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Banker of Bankersville 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 MAURICE THOMPSON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 'ALICE OF OLD VINCENNES," "THE KING OF HONEY ISLAND," 
 **A TALLAHASSEE GIRL," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 STREET & SMITH 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, i8S6, 
 By O. M. DUNHAM 
 
 Copyright, 1900, 
 By STREET & SMITH 
 
1474 
 
 THIS STORY OF A WESTERN LAWYER AND HIS FINANCIAL PARTNER IS 
 DEDICATED TO THE GREATEST LIVING FORENSIC ORATOR, THE 
 
 HONORABLE D. W. VOORHEES, 
 
 BY HIS HUMBLEST FRIEND AND ADMIRER 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 M558957 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/bankerofbankersvOOthomrich 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 MRS. NORA O'SLAUGHTERY, a bright and 
 comely widow, was hovering around the im- 
 maculate table of her little breakfast-room, where her 
 four or five regular boarders were discussing their 
 morning meal. She held in one of her fair, plump 
 hands a long brush of gay peacock feathers, with which 
 she made pretence of driving off flies, when in fact the 
 closely-screened windows and doors rendered it impos- 
 possible for even a gnat to trespass on the quiet neat- 
 ness of her well-spread board. 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery's boarders were all men ; she ob- 
 jected to women as troublesome. 
 
 " They meddle and bother and make a whole world 
 o* worry when there's no need at all," she would say, 
 with a charming hint of the brogue of County Kerry, 
 " and then they always want to borry your waterproof 
 cloak, or your overshoes, or your umbrella, or for that 
 matter, your hard-earned money, and they niver pay 
 back — niver." 
 
lO A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery was ashamed of the Irish sounds 
 that would now and then betray her ; she struggled 
 hard to repress every salient of her nationality. Not 
 that she was ashamed of her birthplace or of her an- 
 cestry, but because she very much desired to be like 
 the intelligent and well-educated American women 
 with whom she affected a refreshing familiarity. She 
 was handsome, and she knew well the charm of being 
 handsome ; her wit was of the true County Kerry sort, 
 and there never was a readier talker. She was nearly 
 always smiling, but she could cry like April, being 
 quite ready with tears as with the music of her sweet 
 laughter. The boarders liked her, as did every body 
 who knew her, though some of them could not resist 
 the temptation to tease her whenever the occasion 
 offered. One, Jere Downs, was the most incorrigible 
 of these, owing in a degree, no doubt, to the fact that 
 he was a bachelor and bald-headed, with a great, 
 round jolly face which forestalled undue vexation, and 
 with a voice as full of blarney as if he too had been 
 born in County Kerry. 
 
 One boarder, Mrs. Nora O'Slaughtery had who was 
 to her, as well as to many another inquisitive person 
 in Bankersville, a most interesting and baffling mys- 
 tery. This was Louis Milford, the tall, quiet, dark, 
 young man who sat at the foot of the table. He had 
 dropped into the boarding-house some four months 
 prior to the time at which our story opens, giving no 
 
A BANKER OF BANKER SVILLE. II 
 
 account of himself, but enforcing the fact that he was 
 a gentleman by that subtle means known to every close 
 observer, but at the command of so few. His charm 
 of manner, if it could be called that, was not due in 
 the least to sociability or even friendliness, for he was 
 reserved and distant to an extent never before toler- 
 ated in Bankersville. 
 
 It was generally understood that Louis Milford was 
 a southerner ; not that any body had ever heard him 
 say so ; it was patent, obvious ; but from just what 
 southern state he had come and in what part of the 
 Confederate Army he had served, it was not so plain. 
 At first he was supposed to be rich, owing, no doubt, 
 to his elegant, though by no means costly clothes, and 
 to the well-equipped law office he had opened on the 
 second floor of a building just across the street from 
 the new Court-house. Later it was discovered that he 
 was very poor and hard pressed to keep his rent paid 
 and his clothes respectable, a discovery which lowered 
 him very much in the common opinion of Bankers- 
 ville, notwithstanding that his deportment did not 
 change in the least, and though he paid all his bills 
 with mechanical regularity. We shall never find out 
 how the people of a small inland town make them- 
 selves acquainted with an individual's financial condi- 
 tion, but we well know that it requires more than cash 
 payments and absolute reticence to hide a constantly 
 collapsing purse. The quintessence of poverty leaks 
 
12 A B A NICER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 out, bottle it as we may, and gives its unmistakable 
 peculiarity to the atmosphere around us. 
 
 Mrs. Nora O'Slaughtery, as she walked lightly be- 
 hind her guests and waved the peacock banner slowly 
 back and forth above their heads, was pondering rather 
 more seriously than ever before the probable financial 
 distress of her favorite boarder, not from a selfish 
 point of view strictly, though she could ill-afford to 
 lose by him, but with some concern for the young man 
 himself, whose face appeared, as she fancied, more 
 thoughtful this morning than usual. She looked at 
 him now and again with something like a tender light 
 in her large blue eyes. 
 
 Milford appeared to eat mechanically, as if his whole 
 mind had gone on some distant errand. Once or twice 
 he lifted his glance to the face of Mrs. O'Slaughtery, 
 as if she might be rather intimately connected with his 
 thoughts, but he certainly did not notice the quick 
 blush that each time ran over the widow's healthy 
 cheeks. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. O'Slaughtery," said Jere Downs, 
 toying with a snowy napkin, " this chicken is the ten- 
 derest for one of its age, now mind you, that ever I 
 tasted — delicious ! " 
 
 " Indade — indeed," (she corrected herself), " you're 
 old enough to be a judge, Mr. Downs, to be sure, but 
 it would be a spring chayken indeed that'd feel flat- 
 tered in the layst by your compliment, I'm sure." 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 1 3 
 
 Downs leaned back and chuckled behind the napkin 
 with his eyes twinkling and his red face glowing. 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery tossed her shapely head after the 
 manner of one who has had the best of an affair, and 
 resumed work with the brush of peacock feathers. 
 
 " It's a question of some importance and of much 
 obscurity, Mrs. O'Slaughtery, as to how old a chicken 
 must be before it may certainly be said to have passed 
 the boundary of youth and entered " 
 
 *' Never moind, Mr. Downs, your appetite is better 
 developed than your intelligence, to be sure, but when 
 you get older you'll be all right; you're a very clear- 
 headed youth, even now." 
 
 Downs involuntarily stroked the bald top of his 
 head at this sly allusion to it, and after rallying 
 ing a moment responded : 
 
 " Very true, very true ; the upward flight of my 
 airy wit is never in danger of getting flustrated by a 
 Langtry bang or a pompadour roach ; you guessed it 
 the first trial, Mrs. O'Slaughtery." 
 
 ** I'm sure I don't comprehind your meaning, at all, 
 Mr. Downs, you're so very indirect and obscure in 
 your allusions, altogither." She put on a demure air 
 and held up her unoccupied hand as she spoke, arch- 
 ing her eyebrows at the same time, and drawing in a 
 long breath, " If I were you, Mr. Downs, I should 
 study simplicity of expression ; you'd be more popular 
 in your business." 
 
14 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Downs was an auctioneer, and it was evident that 
 he had unlimited confidence in himself, but somehow 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery nearly always made him feel his 
 inferiority in these light passages ; it was not so much 
 what she said as the spirit she put into it. She knew 
 the art of dressing effectively on a small allowance, 
 and the bloom of her face and the plump, youthful 
 grace of her rather large figure gave her wit and 
 humor a force, not in the words she used, but which 
 came along with them like an electrical accompani- 
 ment. Her voice, a genuinely Irish one, was very 
 rich and sweet, and her lips and teeth were beautiful. 
 
 '* Well, good-morning, au revoivy Mrs. O'Slaughtery. 
 I must tear myself away until the noon-day feast; 
 meantime, don't forget that lovely nev/ style of baked 
 beans you've been givin* us every day for the last six 
 weeks," said Downs, rising from the table and hastily 
 leaving the room. 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery was about to retort, when she 
 chanced to glance at the young lawyer, who was also 
 preparing to go. Something in his face arrested her 
 words, and almost her breath as well. Paleness, as we 
 call it, shows with strange effect, sometimes, on a very 
 dark face, especially if the eyes too be dark and deep- 
 set. During a moment or two, while the rest of the 
 boarders v/ere going out, Mr. Milford stood in the 
 attitude of one who considers a question at once 
 urgent and perplexing. There was not a hint of 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 1$ 
 
 unsteadiness in his face or form ; but something in his 
 air suggested an inward faltering, as if he were about 
 to do something which called for unusual effort. 
 Presently, when he and Mrs. O'Slaughtery were left 
 to themselves, he said : 
 
 '* Can I have a moment's talk with you in the par- 
 'ior, Mrs. O'Slaughtery?" 
 
 The widow's fresh face grew pale, and for once in 
 her life she found her tongue unable to serve her need. 
 A sudden weakness came over her, causing an almost 
 visible tremor to assail her limbs. 
 
 " I have something that I must talk with you about 
 at once," he added, turning as he spoke and passing 
 through a doorway into the parlor. 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery followed him, with a sense of 
 suffocation she never before had felt. Involuntarily 
 she put her hands over her heart. 
 
 He gave her a chair, and drawing another quite near 
 her, sat down. It was a pretty and cozy little room, 
 dim and cool. 
 
 " I have thought of speaking to you, but have 
 delayed, perhaps too long, hoping against hope." 
 
 His voice was firm, but it was almost husky. He 
 paused a moment, sitting upright with his small, 
 almost delicate hands resting on his knees. 
 
 The widow tried to look at him but her eyes fell 
 under his painfully direct gaze. She felt that she 
 must say something. 
 
1 6 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Milford, you're not going away, I hope? 
 It's very pleasant, indade, to have you with us ; we 
 sha'n't be able to do without you at all," she tremu- 
 lously ejaculated. 
 
 " It depends upon you, Mrs. O'Slaughtery," he 
 responded ; ** I ought to go, and I shall if you desire 
 it. I feel that I have not treated you kindly, to say 
 the least, in not speaking sooner." He was evidently 
 trying to measure his words and preserve his distant 
 dignity of manner. 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery breathed as one does who has 
 just finished a long run up-stairs, but he did not 
 observe it. He was fully employed with keeping the 
 mastery of his own feelings. 
 
 " I can not say that I have entirely lost hope," he 
 went on, lifting his eyes to the ceiling and speaking in 
 a slow way, *' but I do not feel that it is right to ask 
 you to share in my small remnant of confidence. I 
 don't wish to mislead you." 
 
 *•■ No, sir ; I know you wouldn't desave me at all. 
 You're too noble and good; your southern heart is 
 entirely too brave and warum for the loikes o' that ! " 
 she exclaimed, forgetting to guard against the Irish 
 accent and brogue. 
 
 Milford moved uneasily when the word southern 
 fell from her lips, as if some peculiar sting belonged to 
 it. He recovered himself instantly, however, and 
 again fixing his eyes upon her face, said : 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 17 
 
 ** You must not let your confidence in my honor 
 overrule your good, practical, business judgment in 
 this matter, for my future is very precarious, it prom- 
 ises nothing whatever that I can see, nothing what- 
 ever." There was a singular bitterness in his tone. 
 
 She had gathered up the corner of her little 
 embroidered white apron and, as furtively as possible, 
 she wiped away a tear with it. 
 
 He saw this, and for the first time faltered in his 
 slow speech. He felt his own eyes grow dim for a 
 second, but he brought forward his stubborn will and 
 crushed back the emotion. Then, with sudden 
 effort : 
 
 "The time for which I have paid you is up this 
 morning," he went on, his voice actually husky, " and 
 I have no more money. You must trust me, or I 
 must go ; and to trust me," he hurriedly exclaimed, " is 
 to depend on a broken stick ! " 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery drew a sudden, deep breath, as if 
 his words had been a cold stream of water dashed 
 over her, and sat bolt upright in her chair, looking 
 straight at him now. She broke forth : 
 
 "An* this is your great saycret is it? Bless me 
 loife ! " Then gathering herself together in a twink- 
 ling, she abandoned the hated brogue. 
 
 "Oh, I see," she said, "and it is credit you want !" 
 She laughed and flung down her apron. " Well, I 
 never credited but one man, and he owes me yit, 
 
1 8 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 though it's a long time since it was due. Credit 
 breeds discredit, ye know." 
 
 Milford arose. The strange paleness had deepened 
 in his face. 
 
 " I do not blame you/' he murmured, as he half 
 turned away, "you are right, I never could pay you." 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery sprang to her feet and took a 
 quick step toward him, with her arms half-raised, but 
 she checked whatever impulse was moving her, and 
 stood before him erect, with her big, gray-blue eyes 
 wide open. She was almost as tall as he, although 
 his stature was above the average, and she showed 
 her fine figure to good effect. It was but a short space 
 she required for getting full control of herself, then 
 she pointed to his chair and said : 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Milford, and let us talk this matter 
 over. I think there's no trouble about it at all. You 
 are excited." 
 
 He sat down, but got up again at once and said : 
 
 ** No, it is foolish — it is ungenerous in me. I can 
 not, I do not ask it." 
 
 " Now listen, at you ! " she exclaimed ; " sit down 
 just a bit, don't be going off in a flurry. Would you 
 leave a lady when she wants to talk with you ! " 
 
 He dropped once more into the chair, and a smile, 
 rather a forlorn one, to be sure, came over his haggard 
 face. 
 
 " Now, thin, business," she said, putting all her wealth 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 1 9 
 
 of cheerfulness into her voice ; ** you've asked me for 
 credit, and, rayther than lose a good boarder, I'm going 
 to give it. What do you say to a two months' trial, 
 Mr. Milford?" 
 
 Her head, with its load of dark brown hair was held 
 to one side while she was speaking, and she leaned 
 her body slightly forward as she ended. Milford was 
 dazed to a degree that rendered him unable to formu- 
 late an answer at once. 
 
 " Eight weeks, sir, no more, I'll give you," she con- 
 tinued in a bantering tone, settling back in her chair, 
 *' and if you don't catch a good client by that time I'll 
 let you go." 
 
 He smiled again, despite his low spirits ; her cheer- 
 fulness was infectious. 
 
 " Will, you may smile," she archly added, "but I 
 declare upon my word that I won't keep you a day 
 longer than eight weeks, if you don't pay, so, there 
 now ! " 
 
 " All right, Mrs. O'Slaughtery," he finally said, with 
 an attempt at a levity not natural to him at any time, 
 " I'll accept your kind offer, but the eight weeks' board 
 will be lost to you, I'm afraid." 
 
 " Niver moind — niver moind, Mn Milford, I'll take 
 my chances, all the same," she responded, almost 
 gayly. " Now off with you to your office, and to work 
 with a good will, sir ! " 
 
 The young man arose and stood for a time in silence, 
 
20 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 looking down upon her. Then with a tremor in his 
 voice he hurriedly exclaimed : 
 
 " I can not even try to say thanks to you — ^you are 
 doing more for me than you dream of — you are saving 
 more than my life." 
 
 She got up, smiling sweetly, and stood before him. 
 
 *' Go, now, and don't iver at all mention this again," 
 she said ; " it's high toime for your office to be open, 
 who knows but what there's a rich cloient waiting on 
 your stair this minute ! " 
 
 Louis Milford snatched the woman*s hand and 
 squeezed it, pressed it to his lips in an ecstacy of grat- 
 itude, then dropped it and stalked loftily out of the 
 house. 
 
 Mrs. Nora O'Slaughtery stood, just as Milford left 
 her, gazing at the carpet and breathing aloud as if 
 panting from great exertion. She clasped her hands 
 and wrung them, whispering in a shrill, tragic way as 
 she did so : 
 
 "Oh, the poor mon ! The darlin* dear fellow ! How 
 he has suffered, poor boy ! And — and — and — what a 
 silly goose I was, to be sure ! What a squeeze he gave 
 my hand ! and it was a burning kiss — a real lover's kiss, 
 it was ! I wonder, but — pshaw ! " 
 
 She flung herself about, tossed her head airily and 
 ran out into the dining-room where she soon began to 
 sing some gay Irish love song, as she busied herself 
 with her work. Her face for a full hour wore a bril- 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 21 
 
 liant blush and her eyes sparkled with a very becoming 
 light. Now and again, in the spaces between singing 
 and moods of thoughtfulness, she would laugh softly 
 to herself and murmur in a tone of banter : '* Dear, 
 dear, and what a flighty goose I was, to think he was 
 going to say any thing ! " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders energetically and put a 
 cluster of violets on her bosom in token of the purity 
 of her friendship for the poor young man. 
 
II. 
 
 MILFORD walked down the street toward his 
 office, scarcely aware of any relief from the strain 
 ander which he had been suffering. The humiliation 
 o( his new predicament seemed worse, from a certain 
 point of view, than the one from which Mrs. O'Slaugh- 
 tery's kindness had rescued him. A sense of humilia- 
 tion fell over him. It was as if every body he passed 
 on the street knew that he was a pensioner on a poor 
 woman's bounty and was wondering why he was such 
 a failure in a business way. The four or five months 
 that he had been in Bankersville appeared, as he looked 
 back over them, an age of disappointment, worry and 
 anguish. How anxious he had been to keep people 
 from knowing of his struggle with poverty, and now 
 how could he bear to face the further and bitterer 
 blasts of a storm which, until to-day he had buffeted 
 almost serenely, thinking himself unobserved and 
 therefore unpitied. He was very proud and by nature 
 and the circumstances of training, he had formed the 
 habit of carrying his head high and passing every body 
 with a certain air of reserve and distant, almost solemn 
 courtesy, by no means charming to the cheerful, ener- 
 getic and equally proud democrats of Bankersville. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 23 
 
 The young men who would have become his compan- 
 ions and friends were mostly farmers' sons who had 
 come to the little city to seek their fortunes in the 
 professions, or in merchandising, and who retained 
 something of the breadth and freedom of prairie corn- 
 fields and liberal meadows in their characters. They 
 resented his bearing toward them as not only 
 unfriendly, but as an assumption of personal superior- 
 ity. No doubt the fact that his education appeared 
 to be of a higher order than theirs and his manners 
 indicative of better breeding, had generated that sort 
 of envy in their breasts which, to most of us, is very 
 humiliating and yet very dear. Democracy is superbly 
 liberal to every body except the aristocrat, and 
 especially the aristocrat who has no money. If Mil- 
 ford had been very rich and had been inclined to make 
 a great show of personal extravagance, the situation 
 would have been quite different. So, if he had owned 
 a title, no matter how empty, his lofty bearing might 
 have caused him no inconvenience ; for any thing gen- 
 uine, even a genuine title of despised nobility, extorts 
 a kind of respect from the most ultra republican, no 
 matter how furious may be his hatred of every heredi- 
 tary distinction among men. 
 
 Milford's reticence, the mystery which in some way 
 had attached to his past history, and his peculiar inde- 
 pendence and self-sufficiency of manner, all combined 
 to emphasize a certain feeling, almost amounting to 
 
24 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 satisfaction, with which the citizens of Bankersville 
 perceived his certain descent toward humiliation. It 
 would not be just to Milford if we should attribute his 
 course to bad motives or to a weakness for mere show, 
 and yet the cost of his law library and office furniture 
 and his punctilious observance of the latest fashion in 
 his dress were to be classed as evidences of folly by 
 practical men in Bankersville, considering that he was 
 poor, unknown, and just beginning the pursuit of a very 
 exacting and precarious profession. Another fact 
 weighed heavily against him, he was a Southerner and 
 had been a confederate soldier. The war of the re- 
 bellion was too recent a thing then for any great soft- 
 ening of the feelings its horrors had excited to have 
 come about, and to many good people it appeared a 
 bit of brazen impudence for an unrepentant rebel to 
 come up into the North and complacently open an 
 office, with a view to competing with loyal men before 
 a loyal public for the emoluments of professional life. 
 Then, too, some close observers concluded that Mil- 
 ford carried in his face, fine-cut and almost stern, un- 
 mistakable evidences of having been a cruel, soulless 
 slave-driver, or, at least, an abettor of those who kept 
 blood-hounds and delighted in the music of the lash. 
 The human imagination is so ready to assist to its 
 utmost the development of every tragic suggestion in 
 such an instance. How much of this condition of public 
 feeling was due to Milford's lack of those qualities 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 25 
 
 which render a man popular, and to his reserve and 
 hauteur of manner, would be hard to say. Bankers- 
 ville was situated at about that point of latitude and 
 longitude, nearly midway between St. Louis and Cin- 
 cinnati, where a long line of rich and cultured ancestry 
 and an air of personal exclusiveness are of least value, 
 and where individual energy, pluck and shrewdness 
 compass the largest results. Milford was well aware of 
 this, and felt that if once he could find his way to an op- 
 portunity, he should be able to command the full value 
 of whatever intellectual superiority he possessed, de- 
 spite the hindrance offered by his antecedents. But his 
 was not a character formed for making its own oppor- 
 tunities, if indeed he was fitted for grasping fortune 
 when it should be thi"ust toward him. His first step in 
 Bankersville was a mistake characteristic of no Western 
 business man. He had but two thousand dollars to 
 begin with, and of this sum he invested eighteen hun- 
 dred dollars in a well-selected law library and an elegant 
 suite of office furniture, including a carpet, leaving but 
 two hundred dollars between his lips and starvation, in 
 a town where he was a stranger in all that the word 
 implies. Of course he ought to have foreseen the re- 
 sult ; but the truth is he never once thought of it until 
 it was upon him, when the apparition of failure and 
 worse struck him blind and dumb, so to speak. For a 
 certain number of days he had sat in his office dili- 
 gently studying the statutes and court decisions of the 
 
26 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 state, earnestly intent upon making himself thoroughly 
 ready for the clients he never doubted would come to 
 him. Suddenly he found his purse nearly empty and 
 not a brief in hand, not a client with which to begin 
 his list. Fortunately such a predicament comes to com- 
 paratively few persons of Milford's character, for, after 
 all, most of our poor young men who go into the pro- 
 fessions find their way to an honest living without any 
 particularly tragical experiences. No doubt the reason 
 of this lies in the fact that as a class and as individuals 
 they recognize the necessity of crawling before walk- 
 ing and of walking before running. But to say the 
 truth Milford had thought of nothing but beginning at 
 a full run. He had taken it for granted that his place 
 was at the top, and he had not considered that his suc- 
 cess depended in any measure upon his personal exer- 
 tions toward getting business in the first place. In 
 other words he never had dreamed that he should have 
 to hunt up his first client and, as it were, drag him up 
 into the office and coax him to the point of employing 
 his captor. Moreover, he nursed high notions of the 
 dignity of his profession ; as if he had lived in the 
 golden age of the law, when to be a lawyer was a very 
 high honor. 
 
 As he walked down the street to his office, that sweet 
 spring morning, he reckoned himself to be of much 
 less importance to the world than any previous calcu- 
 lation had disclosed. There was an almost unbear- 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 2 J 
 
 able humiliation in the thought that even Mrs. 
 0*Slaughtery, a poor widow, was quite able to do more 
 than he in the battle for bread, and that his freedom 
 to prolong his own struggle for two months more de- 
 pended upon her generosity and pity. 
 
 He had nearly reached his ofifice when he felt a hand, 
 not slight by any means, laid on his arm. He looked 
 down and saw the short, fat form of the auctioneer 
 Downs beside him. The familiarity of the man's act 
 was far from agreeable to Milford, even in his despond- 
 ence, but the cheerful and hearty voice with which he 
 spoke, in a manner compensated for the liberty of his 
 touch. 
 
 " I haven't spoke to you, I believe, Mr. Milford, 
 about getting your sales," he said in an apologetic way, 
 " but when you have a sale I hope you'll use your in- 
 fluence fer me. I try to cry sales as well and as low as 
 any of 'em." 
 
 Milford shook off the man's hand from his sleeve and 
 turned upon him a look of dignified but extreme 
 anger. 
 
 ''When I sell I shall not sell at auction, thank you," 
 was the only response he could utter. It never came 
 into his mind that Mr. Downs might mean those pub- 
 lic sales which lawyers sometimes control for their 
 clients. His brain was so filled with visions of the 
 most probable outcome toward which his professional 
 venture was swiftly tending, that he could not imagine 
 
225 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 any thing less doleful than a sale of his books and fur- 
 niture in the auctioneer's suggestion. 
 
 Downs was a rare judge of human faces and human 
 motives, as indeed his business required him to be. He 
 looked with a sudden sharp inquiry into Milford's eyes, 
 and almost instantly his countenance exchanged sur- 
 prise for a curious flash of discovery. 
 
 *' Oh, you don't catch on right, I mean legal sales, 
 like administrators' sales and guardians' and " 
 
 ''Nevermind, I see, I understand," Milford hastened 
 to say, his face flushing a little. '' I was absent-minded. 
 I shall be glad to remember you at need, though, of 
 course, for a while yet my opportunities to serve you 
 will be few." 
 
 " Sometimes I see chances to throw business into a 
 lawyer's hands," Downs replied, "■ and I may be able 
 to turn something into yours. One good turn 
 deserves another, and I believe in helping them that 
 needs help, and them that helps me." 
 
 They walked on side by side, the lawyer tall, straight, 
 gloomy-faced ; the auctioneer, short, good-humored, 
 heavy, red-visaged and apparently happy. When they 
 reached the foot of the stair-way leading up to Mil- 
 ford's office, Downs said : 
 
 " I'll come up, when I get time, and have a talk 
 with you. We board at the same house and we'd 
 ought to be friends." 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 29 
 
 **0f course," said Milford, **call. I shall be glad to 
 see you." 
 
 " Well, good-morning ; good luck to you for the day," 
 added Downs, extending his soft, thick hand, which 
 Milford took with a warmth not usual. There was 
 something in this short interview not to be put into 
 words. Milford still felt it when he had seated him- 
 self at his desk in his office. He had opened a volume 
 of the state statutes before him, but the mood of the 
 moment did not permit study ; the glaring facade of 
 the new court-house across the street was quite as inter- 
 esting as the pages of the book. In fact, he sat for a 
 long while gazing through a window at a patch of soft 
 blue sky visible above the roof of that temple of jus- 
 tice, within which as yet his profession had not called 
 him. Poignant as was his suffering he did not fully real- 
 ize his situation, but sat there baffled and benumbed. 
 He heard the drays on the street with some thought 
 of how much more successful and happy the brawny 
 draymen were than his present out-look promised 
 that he could ever be. It is not in human nature for 
 one in his predicament to hold the reins of philosophy 
 with a steady hand ; at bottom we are all, in a degree, 
 sentimentalists and railers at fortune in the hour when 
 it deserts us. Milford considered, with a bitter sense 
 of revolt, the fact that certain vulgar and uneducated 
 young men whose offices were near his appeared to be 
 doing a thriving practice. Of what value were his 
 
30 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 years of hard study, his hereditary gentility of bearing, 
 his really fine intellect ? Jones> over the way, who 
 habitually said " I done it," " he had went " and *' they 
 seen him comin*," was growing rich in pursuit of a 
 learned profession. Jones had begun a few years 
 before as a justice of the peace, passing from that 
 office into the condition of a full-fledged, popular and 
 prosperous lawyer. Milford could not account for such 
 an instance. In a vague way Jones appeared to be a 
 usurper and a fraudulent presentation. To see him 
 and hear him make a speech to a jury, or address a 
 court, was enough to drive a sensitive person from the 
 court-room. He bawled and screamed, he beat the air 
 with his enormous hands, he used slang and did awful 
 violence to the simplest rules of grammar ; but he 
 gained his causes. To Milford not only was this an 
 anomaly, it was an outrage upon professional life, an 
 insult to civilization and the cause of progress. 
 
 His reflections, however, seemed to rebound upon 
 him, as it were, with an accelerated force, as if Jones's 
 success really demonstrated the theory of successful 
 practice at the Indiana bar — or rather at the Bankers- 
 ville bar. 
 
 What was all his learning in the dead tongues — all 
 his familiarity with the classics of many languages — all 
 his fine mental training worth, when pitted against 
 Jones's crude, elephantine practicality? Success is 
 what a poor young lawyer most desires, and Jones cer- 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 3* 
 
 tainly had reached success by the shortest route. To 
 Milford's mind here was a clear example of the empti- 
 ness of culture. By an obscure mental process, the 
 solution of the whole matter appeared to be that brute 
 energy, personal courage, and large combativeness were 
 the chief elements of success. Not that he reasoned 
 to such a conclusion, for there was no systematic dis- 
 cussion going on in his mind ; his thoughts were 
 broken and scrappy, but they held in them the conclu- 
 sions to which most despairing men have arrived 
 sooner or later. Somewhat to his surprise, when he 
 had been in his ofifice about an hour, Downs entered 
 and unceremoniously took a seat. 
 
 " Got a question I want to get your opinion on," he 
 said at once. " I'm into a little trouble, or about to 
 be, which is all the same." 
 
 Milford looked at him absenUy and responded with 
 a monosyllable : 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 ** It's not exactly a law question, I admit," Downs 
 proceeded to say, with a curious smile on his round red 
 face, " but when a fellow's at the end of his row he 
 wants counsel, law or no law. Did you ever get clean 
 busted in a strange place, Mr. Milford ? " 
 
 The lawyer colored rather violently, despite his usual 
 self-control, and made no answer before Downs began 
 to speak again ; 
 
 "Anyhow, /'w busted to a dead certainty and I owe 
 
32 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 Mrs. O'SIaughtery for three weeks' board, and I don't 
 see what the old Harry I am going to do. I can't get 
 no sales to cry, nor nothin' of the sort ; it kinder 'pears 
 like bad luck has set down on me, sort o* made a mash 
 on me for good. Makes a feller feel kind o' suicida- 
 ceous." 
 
 Milford gazed into the auctioneer's genial eyes with 
 a strange, cold stare. His misery was not of the sort 
 that courts company, and he was not of a turn to 
 relish coarse humor or to make a man like Downs his 
 confidant ; but he felt the stirrings of sympathy, never- 
 theless. He remembered now that he and the auction- 
 eer had come to Bankersville at about the same time, 
 and he understood the situation perfectly, he thought. 
 Still, as he had no word of comfort to offer, and felt 
 the responsibility of keeping his own humiliating 
 secret, with the added weight of the dread of its dis- 
 covery, he sat in silence, gravely eying his visitor. 
 
 " I thought you might know of some way by which 
 I'd be able to get a job, or may be you could lend me 
 twenty-five dollars for a few days," Downs added, in a 
 rapid tenor voice, with his face growing almost comic- 
 ally grave. " I never was in just such a ridiculous old 
 fix before." 
 
 " I'm very sorry, indeed, but it's quite out of my 
 power to help you," said Milford, moving uneasily in 
 his chair. Then after a short pause he added : " I am 
 sure you will come out all right, however." 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 33 
 
 "Oh, of course, I'll get there somehow, you bet your 
 life," exclaimed Downs with energy, bringing his fat 
 hand down upon the green covering of the desk with a 
 loud slap; ** I don't give in for trifles; but — but — it's 
 mighty uncomfortable to be so hard up. You, in your 
 business, can't have no idea of such a thing, I reckon." 
 
 ** Money is close now and business is very dull," said 
 Milford, with an inward flush of shame for the dry, 
 indifferent tone of voice he had assumed. He had to 
 say something. 
 
 Downs looked at him with eyes that had in them a 
 demure twinkle unobserved by Milford. A consider, 
 able space of silence ensued, during which Milford took 
 out his watch, a gold one, and Downs consulted his, a 
 large silver one. 
 
 " I s'pose I could put this up with the pawn-broker 
 down here," the auctioneer remarked, as he returned 
 the time-piece to his pocket ; *' you know Jonas down 
 here on the corner? He takes things into pawn. I 
 guess I can soak this old turnip for five dollars, may be." 
 
 Milford's face flushed with some quick thought which 
 he did not put into words. Downs noticed this, but 
 only said : 
 
 " Well, I must stir about, somethin's got to happen 
 right soon in my case ; guess I'd as well interview 
 Jonas." 
 
 He got up and walked to the door, where he turned 
 and dallied for a moment, then half-jocularly added : 
 
34 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 ** A fellow mustn't be too proud to do what is neces- 
 sary. Good-morning Mr. Milford." 
 
 " Good-morning," responded Milford. At the foot 
 of the stairs Downs stopped and chuckled, his face 
 growing very red. " I've give him a hint, anyway," he 
 thought, " and if he don't take it, sooner or later, I'm 
 mistaken, poor fellow ! " 
 
 Milford, when he felt quite alone, took out his watch 
 again, and turned it over and over in his hand. It was 
 an elegant and costly old piece, set round the rim with 
 alternate diamonds and rubies ; an heir-loom of pre. 
 cious associations, whose intrinsic value, though con- 
 siderable, was as nothing compared with its immaterial 
 worth. His face grew very dark with the cloud of his 
 distressing thoughts. He was wondering if indeed he 
 should have to go down to the pawnbroker's before 
 long. He replaced his watch and began walking back 
 and forth across the office floor. Now and again he 
 stood for a time by a window overlooking the street, 
 wherein a business-like stir was observable, and gazed 
 down upon the heads of the comers and goers. It 
 seemed an inscrutable thing to him that he could not 
 discover how to become a part of all this profitable 
 activity. Again and again it occurred to him that 
 Downs was, in a measure, the sort of man he should 
 like to be, a man not ashamed to acknowledge his 
 strait and plucky enough to meet an emergency with 
 the directest expedient. At the same time, however, 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 35 
 
 he recognized, or thought he did, that such shifts as 
 Downs could resort to with impunity would not serve 
 his turn as they would that of the auctioneer. Each 
 man must mold his own life after the plan he has 
 chosen and can not utilize with impunity the patterns 
 and details of others, so he reasoned ; but he kept 
 recurring to the thought of the pawnshop. 
 
 It was nearly noon when a heavy step on the stairs 
 attracted his attention, and there appeared in the door- 
 way, a little later, a tall, heavy-looking young man, 
 whose face, as smooth as a woman's, looked the picture 
 of health and earnestness. This new-comer was dressed 
 in a well-fitting suit of grayish tweed and bore himself 
 confidently, as one who knew what he wanted and 
 who was sincerely bent upon getting it. 
 
 "Is this Mr. Milford?" he asked, walking directly 
 up to the lawyer and offering his hand. '* My name is 
 Chester Lawson," he added, in response to Milford's 
 polite bow and inquiring look, "and I should like a 
 talk with you if you are not engaged." 
 
 "Certainly, take this chair," said Milford, "I am 
 qnite at leisure just now." 
 
 The two men sat down with the desk between them. 
 
 " To come to the point at once," said Lawson, with 
 a very charming smile on his smooth face and in his 
 wide open frank blue eyes, " I'm a fresh limb of the 
 law, graduated from Ann Arbor law school, and I'm on 
 the look-out for a partner. I haven't got the money to 
 
36 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 buy a library and set up for myself, so 1 shall have to 
 try to do the next best thing, set up with a man who 
 is more fortunate." 
 
 Milford could not help smiling. There was some- 
 thing almost exhilarating in the presence of this hope- 
 ful young fellow, whose eyes had in them a light like 
 a prophecy of success, and whose voice was so full of 
 enthusiasm and self-confidence. 
 
 " I saw your sign below, so I just ran up-stairs and 
 tumbled in. There's nothing like trying, you know," 
 continued the boy — for boy he looked, although he 
 must have been eight-and-twenty. '' I thought I might 
 make some sort of arrangement with you. I should 
 be willing to pay something for the chance to begin in 
 an office like this." He looked around over the neat 
 furniture, the pretty wall-paper and the long rows of 
 calf-bound books with an almost greedy expression in 
 his fine courageous face, then added in a more matter- 
 of-fact tone: "what would you think of giving me a 
 chance — what terms would you propose ? Of course 
 I could not pay a great deal down." 
 
 Milford scarcely knew what to say, so suddenly had 
 the matter, full of such importance to him, fallen at his 
 feet. 
 
 " I should feel like taking time to consider your sug- 
 gestion," he said, feeling guilty of a departure from 
 perfect frankness; he was, in fact, eager to close a 
 bargain. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 37 
 
 " Oh, certainly," replied Lawson with a perceptible 
 abatement of his eager manner, " when would you be 
 ready to make me a proposition, if at all ? " 
 
 Milford sat a moment in silence, but his brain was 
 acting with great energy. He felt the terrible danger 
 of letting the present opportunity slip ; it was the wave 
 of fortune. 
 
 " Well, after all, I am not sure that we need to take 
 another time ; now will do as well," he presently said. 
 " How much can you pay in cash ? " 
 
 The young man compressed his lips a moment and 
 bent his brows, as if making a silent calculation. At 
 length, having reached a conclusion, he looked up and 
 resuming his smile, said : 
 
 " I can spare three hundred dollars now and I will 
 have two hundred more in about a month." 
 
 ** You would want an equal partnership with me, I 
 suppose," suggested Milford. 
 
 " Certainly, and just a little more," said Lawson. *' I 
 should want my name in the lead, that is, I should 
 want our card to read Lawson & Milford." 
 
 There was a painful silence at once. Milford's face 
 reddened and paled alternately and it was with a great 
 deal of effort that he controlled himself. The demand 
 had the force of an insult, though made without arro- 
 gance. 
 
 "You begin early with your exactions," he at length 
 
38 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 said, somewhat stiffly. " We may as well talk no 
 longer." Milford rose. 
 
 " Of course, if you like," said Lawson, rising also 
 and taking up his hat. He looked a little disappointed, 
 but he was smiling still. " I thought it best to be 
 frank and outspoken from the start. Fm going to 
 make things move like a cyclone when I begin work. 
 I'm going to work in the lead, too ; but I'm willing 
 to pay for the chance and the place. I mean busi- 
 ness ! " 
 
 The two men looked straight into each other's eyes. 
 Lawson moved as if to go, then turned and extended 
 his hand : 
 
 *' Good-morning, Mr. Milford, I hope there's no harm 
 done; I'm glad to have met you," he cordially ex- 
 claimed, his face still beaming pleasantly. " If you 
 should chance to reconsider your answer before I find 
 a partner, I shall be glad to hear from you. I am 
 stopping at room 30, Sudley's Hotel." 
 
 Milford took the young man's hand with more cor- 
 diality than might have been expected, and held it 
 while he said : 
 
 " You certainly are both frank and enthusiastic. No 
 doubt we can come to some sort of terms, if we try 
 hard." 
 
 " Why, I should think we ought," responded Lawson. 
 "It can't matter much to you about the style of the 
 firm — that is about which name comes first, and it does 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 39 
 
 matter to me a great deal — I am very ambitious, Mr. 
 Milford." 
 
 •' Oh, as to that," said Milford, '* I suppose that the 
 style of the firm name is a mere matter of form ; but 
 the older member's name usually appears first." 
 
 "■ Very true, I grant ; still I may as well say to you 
 that it is for the precedence that I propose to pay you^ 
 that and the use of your library and office. So far as 
 the practice, the business and all that is concerned, I 
 expect to bring it here. You can't work up a practice, 
 Mr. Milford, that's not your strong point." 
 
 Lawson spoke all this in a tone at once firm, authori- 
 tative and pleasing. Milford never before had heard 
 any thing like it ; he had never dreamed that any man 
 could dare address him with such liberty; and yet there 
 was nothing suggestive of intentional impudence in 
 the young stranger's manner. On the contrary, a 
 magnetic personal force seemed to go with what 
 Lawson said, and Milford felt an obscure but strong 
 attraction toward him, notwithstanding a certain 
 doubt of his moral fiber. 
 
 They sat down again with the desk between them, as 
 before, and after some further talk Lawson took paper 
 and pen and hastily dashed off a memorandum of their 
 contract. He did this before they had verbally agreed 
 upon any of the terms. While he was writing he 
 kept on talking, his genial face glowing with the 
 
40 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 warmth of his feelings, and his pen scratching loudly 
 on the paper. 
 
 " I think you'll like me, Mr. Milford, and I know I 
 shall be delighted with you," he was saying. " There's 
 no end to my capacity for work, and I've always done 
 whatever I've tried to do. You need a partner like 
 me, a genuine steam-engine. We'll shake up these 
 Bankersville lawyers and show them how to do busi- 
 ness." 
 
 Milford watched him with undisguised wonder. 
 There was something admirable in his vim and self- 
 assertion that had the effect, indeed, of suggesting an 
 engine running under a steady, but enormous pressure 
 of steam. The fact that the young man's face was 
 so clean-shaven gave a certain individuality to his 
 square-set jaws and full, strong chin. His hands 
 were nervous and shapely ; indeed his entire physique 
 was a fine embodiment of manly strength and 
 health. 
 
 The thought grew in Milford's mind that here was 
 an ideal Westerner, or rather a real one, a young man 
 with a force de jeune dieu and formed of a stronger 
 clay than that of older countries, and whose breath of 
 life was indeed a vigorous element. The Southerner's 
 romantic imagination discovered in the Westerner's 
 resistless realism something that appeared to embody 
 that fascinating neology known as young American- 
 ism ; not the young Americanism of slang, but that of 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 41 
 
 the strongest meaning, the spirit of our amazing prog- 
 ress in material achievement. 
 
 " Well, here it is in rough form," said Lawson, pick- 
 ing up the document he had been draughting. '' I 
 think I've got it substantially right." 
 
 He proceeded to read it over aloud, emphasizing 
 those passages referring to his own standing and privi- 
 leges in the firm, pausing occasionally to offer a rapid 
 comment or explanation. The contract was evenly 
 balanced in its provisions, saving that Lawson's posi- 
 tion at the head of the firm seemed, by an implication 
 held somewhere between the phrases, to project his 
 business leadership and to accentuate his personal 
 superiority. 
 
 Milford signed the paper with a certain sense of 
 abasement, though he did not fairly understand why 
 it thus affected him, while at the same time he rec- 
 ognized the probability of a great financial gain 
 through the operation. 
 
 Lawson handed Milford a check for three hundred 
 dollars, and a note for two hundred payable thirty days 
 after date. 
 
 So the first legal transaction ever consummated in 
 Milford's office was the beginning of a career for both 
 the interested parties. The style of the new firm was 
 Lawson & Milford^ Attorneys at Law. 
 
III. 
 
 ON account of the negotiations with Lawson, Mil- 
 ford was late starting to his dinner at the board- 
 ing-house of Mrs. Nora O'Slaughtery, and when he 
 came near the cottage he met Downs going down town. 
 
 ** You'd better hurry along, captain," exclaimed the 
 auctioneer, " or the widder'll have a fit, sure. She's 
 taking on dreadful, thinks you've absconded or some- 
 thing." 
 
 Milford shrugged his shoulders in spite of himself, 
 and made no other response. He could formulate no 
 rejoinder to such a bit of vulgar familiarity, and yet 
 he rather liked Downs, and did not wish to offend him. 
 They had passed each other, when Milford turned and 
 said : 
 
 " Wait a moment, Mr. Downs." 
 
 The auctioneer promptly faced about. 
 
 " I can let you have twenty-five dollars now, if it 
 will serve you to take the loan," continued Milford, 
 putting his hand to his breast-pocket. 
 
 Downs involuntarily and with electrical quickness 
 glanced at the lawyer's vest ; but the plain gold chain 
 was still there, and, presumably, the watch also. A 
 curious change came over his face. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 43 
 
 " What time have you, Mr. Milford?"he inquired. 
 Sure enough, the old bejeweled piece came forth all 
 right. " About the money," he went on. " I've got 
 that all arranged ; but I'm more than a thousand times 
 obliged to you, all the same. It's mighty kind of you." 
 He hesitated before he continued : " Had a client this 
 forenoon, didn't you ?" 
 
 " No," said Milford, instantly taking on his custom- 
 ary dignity of voice and manner, thus perceptibly 
 withdrawing himself from Downs's level. Then, after 
 a considerable pause, he added in a kinder but still 
 distant tone : 
 
 '' I'm glad that you are over your trouble, Mr. 
 Downs, very glad." 
 
 The auctioneer hung his thumbs in the pockets of 
 his vest and said : 
 
 " Oh, for that matter, I always manage to get over 
 difficulties, one way or another." He chuckled and 
 made a comical grimace while he was speaking. Mil- 
 ford passed on under the maple trees that shaded the 
 red brick side-walk, and went through the little brown 
 gate of the O'Slaughtery cottage. The widow met 
 him at the door, but if she had prepared any voluble 
 greeting she discreetly repressed it. 
 
 "You must have been awful busy, Mr. Milford, to 
 be forgetting your dinner altogether," she very quietly 
 remarked, while he was laying aside his hat and 
 cane. 
 
44 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " Yes, I have been engaged," he answered. " I hope 
 I have not put you to too great inconvenience." 
 
 " Oh, not at all, not at all, to be sure, don't think of 
 it a single minute, Mr. Milford. I was just a-saying to 
 Mr. Downs, that you'd been the layst trouble of any 
 boarder I iver had in my loife." 
 
 She led the way to the little dining-room, and drew 
 back Milford's chair for him ; then she hastened to 
 fetch his soup. He noticed a little bouquet of violets 
 beside his napkin. This, in a mood that did not admit 
 of more than an obscure consciousness of the act, he 
 pinned upon his coat-front. The spring-birds were 
 singing and whistling noisily in the trees near a win- 
 dow. The room was sweet and fresh, with an out- 
 door fragrance in its atmosphere. He did not lookup 
 when the soup was placed before him, but mechani- 
 cally said : " Thank you." 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery glanced at the flowers and blushed 
 prettily. Involuntarily she drew herself a little further 
 away from him, and forgot to offer him the pepper. 
 
 He was running over in his mind the singular nature 
 of the whole affair with Lawson, and was wondering 
 what would be the outcome of this hasty alliance. He 
 could not get rid of a haunting sense of humiliation, as 
 if he had sacrificed his dignity and grasped relief at any 
 cost. The thought that he had bound himself for five 
 years to be the partner of a man about whose character 
 and antecedents he had not even stopped to inquire, 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 45 
 
 was of itself very depressing. Still he did not see how 
 he could have done otherwise ; a beggar could not 
 choose, and Lawson certainly had a good face and an 
 honest bearing. 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery noted the thoughtful mood, but 
 she reasonably attributed it to Milford's financial 
 trouble, and she pondered how she might lighten his 
 load, while she hurried back and forth arranging the 
 simple courses of the dinner. For once, however, her 
 wits were at fault, and she could not think of any thing 
 she might do or say to cheer him. She was wholly 
 unprepared for the emergency, when, at the close of the 
 meal, Milford took out his pocket-book, and, counting 
 some bills, spread them on the table. 
 
 " You gave me credit for two months, this morning," 
 he said, '' and it was very kind of you, for I needed it 
 then, but I do not need it now. As a sort of recog- 
 nition of your goodness, I will pay you for two months 
 in advance." He looked up into her eyes and his 
 smile, though grave, was cordial and kindly. 
 
 She recoiled from him as if scared, throwing up both 
 her hands to the level of her face, which was full of 
 surprise. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! you mustn't do it at all — you mustn't 
 draym of such a thing, Mr. Milford," she exclaimed, 
 with a shaking voice ; " keep your money yourself till 
 you can spare it." 
 
 Milford, who did not feel that there was any occa- 
 
46 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 sion for a display of sentiment, arose, leaving the bills 
 on the table, and turned to go from the room. Mrs. 
 O'Slaughtery snatched up the money and sprang in 
 front of him. 
 
 " I can't permit this, indade, I can't at all ! " she cried, 
 " take it back or me heart will break entirely ! " 
 
 " Of course, if you really desire it," he said. ** I 
 meant it as a matter of good faith. I see nothing 
 wrong about it." 
 
 She threw herself toward him and thrust the money 
 into his hand, then she covered her face and began to 
 cry. 
 
 He was astounded and stood speechless before her. 
 A queer sensation as of some vaguely-defined revela- 
 tion took possession of him, but he shook himself free 
 of it and said, in the most matter-of-fact way : 
 
 "After all, Mrs. O'Slaughtery, your house is too far 
 from my office, and I really think I shall have to go to 
 a hotel." 
 
 She snatched her hands from her face still wet with 
 tears and gazed at him with flaming eyes. 
 
 " There, now ! There, now ! This is what I get for 
 all my kindness to you ; you turn straight around and 
 desart me ; you are real mane, so you are ! You're jist 
 like all the men, you — you — " she broke down again 
 and sobbed aloud. The young man stood abashed, 
 feeling utterly at a loss what to say or do, as the strong 
 handsome woman gave vent to her strange emotion. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 47 
 
 " Indeed, Mrs. O'Slaughtery, you do me great 
 injustice," he presently said. ** I certainly am very 
 grateful for your kindness to me. If I have offended 
 you in the least measure, I beg a thousand pardons." 
 
 She instantly uncovered her eyes again and her 
 smiles shot through her tears, like sunlight through rain. 
 
 " It's myself that needs the pardon altogether, Mr. 
 Milford," she said, "I'm such an impulsive creature; 
 you mustn't pay any attention to my outbursts at all." 
 
 She very demurely wiped her cheeks and eyes with 
 her little white apron. 
 
 Milford could not keep from smiling at this display 
 of Irish volatility. 
 
 '* I see you making fun of me, too, but that's all 
 right, I deserve it," she went on to say, holding her 
 head to one side and sighing resignedly. " A woman 
 always gives a man the advantage of her ; but then, if 
 he's a gentleman, he won't use it at all." 
 
 " At least you are in no danger," said Milford, lightly, 
 as he again turned to leave the room. 
 
 " Well, I should say I'm not either. I'd loike to see 
 the man that I'd care for in the least. I'm not so sus- 
 ceptible, Mr. Milford, I'd have you to know!" she 
 exclaimed, bridling and clinching her hands. *' I think 
 it's very wrong in you to hint it, I do ! " 
 
 " Calm yourself, I beg of you, I meant nothing of 
 the sort, I — " Milford was saying, but she interrupted 
 him. 
 
48 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! calm myself, indade ! Ain't I calm as 
 a June morning, I wonder ? What is there to excite 
 me, at all ? Not a thing in the world, I'm sure ! " 
 
 Her posture, as she spoke, was one denoting the 
 most airy indifference and she ended with a laugh 
 which was almost merry. 
 
 Milford, though he joined in the laugh, did so with 
 a sort of protest in his heart, and he was glad enough 
 to take advantage of the moment to get out of the 
 house. Mrs. O'Slaughtery followed him to the doorj 
 however, and called to him as he passed through the 
 little gate : 
 
 "You'll be up to supper, Mr. Milford, won't you? ** 
 
 But he affected not to hear her. Indeed, he had 
 already begun to think of his office and his new part 
 ner. Somehow the smooth, strikingly boyish and yet 
 masterful face of the enthusiastic young man kept 
 deepening its impression ; but the nature of that 
 impression was in itself a puzzle to Milford. As he 
 walked on, thoroughly lost in the whirl of his thoughts, 
 a phaeton drawn by a stout old pony came near the 
 sidewalk, and a benevolently sonorous voice addressed 
 him: 
 
 "Mr Milford, a moment, if you please." 
 
 The lawyer halted and turned half about, pulling 
 together his faculties with a perceptible effort. The 
 person who had addressed him was a very fresh-faced, 
 snowy-haired, heavy-set old gentleman, whose beard^ 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 49 
 
 white as his hair, fell in wavy, shining ripples upon his 
 ample chest. 
 
 *' I wanted to tell you to be sure to attend our 
 chapel this evening, as we have improvised an occa- 
 sion for a lecture by Dr. Liberalis, of Boston, who 
 chances to be in the city over night. He is a pro- 
 nounced advocate of woman's rights, you know, but a 
 great thinker and a good man, notwithstanding." 
 
 As the old gentleman delivered this little speech he 
 gazed benignly at Milford, and upon ending glanced 
 half slyly at the grave-faced young woman who sat by 
 his side. The last-named personage was not only 
 grave-faced, she was good-looking, beautiful indeed, 
 and quite youthful enough to be called a girl, albeit 
 she was taller as she sat than the man beside her. 
 
 Milford had lifted his hat and bowed profoundly in 
 acknowledgment of the gentle, friendly greeting, as 
 much on account of the high respect and admiration he 
 had for the old gentleman as in response to a quick 
 but sedate glance from the young lady's dark-blue 
 eyes. 
 
 '' I shall be very glad, indeed, to hear Dr. Liberalis," 
 said he, " and I am greatly obliged to you. Dr. Wilton, 
 for informing me of the lecture, though, frankly 
 speaking, I have no patience whatever with the 
 so-called woman's rights movement." 
 
 Dr. Wilton smiled and turned his fatherly eyes upon 
 his companion in the phaeton, who was now regarding 
 
50 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 Milford with the look of one having something to say, 
 without the right to say it. 
 
 " My daughter is somewhat inclined to take the other 
 view, I believe," the old man demurely said ; then, as 
 if he had suddenly discovered something of import- 
 ance, he added, apologetically : 
 
 "• Why, I believe you have never been introduced to 
 my daughter, Mr. Milford. She has been away." 
 
 He proceeded to make a formal introduction ; so 
 extremely formal, indeed, that the two young persons 
 smiled a little more than is usual upon such occasions. 
 Milford doffed his hat again and did not fail to note 
 what beautiful teeth Miss Wilton showed when she 
 spoke. 
 
 " We meet as enemies, Mr. Milford, I am sorry to 
 know," she said, with not the least touch of any thing 
 but pleasantry in her voice. **I refuse to give any aid 
 or comfort whatever to those who combat the progress 
 of women toward the highest freedom." 
 
 " I beg a truce with a view to an unconditional sur- 
 render on my part," he lightly replied. " I could never 
 be a hero in such a war as you suggest." 
 
 " It is hinted," said Dr. Wilton, " and I fancy that 
 there's some force in the hint, that Dr. Liberalis has 
 come here for the purpose of trying to influence our 
 college in the interests of those who wish to see us 
 adopt the system of co-education — that is to persuade 
 us to admit young ladies into our classes." 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 5 1 
 
 "And my father thinks that the thing would be 
 a calamity as dreadful as St. Bartholomew's Day or the 
 Lisbon earthquake," Miss Wilton exclaimed, her voice 
 modulated to the gentlest respectfulness when she 
 mentioned her father, and rippling into an almost 
 merry tone as she made the comparison. 
 
 " Not so bad as that, Marian," rejoined the old man, 
 "but it is hard for me to see any merit in the propo- 
 sition, aside from any consideration of the awful effect 
 that a flock of uncontrollable young misses would have 
 upon the staid character of our school." 
 
 "Oh, dear! it must have been a bevy of very rude 
 girls, indeed, that put the old cow in the chapel pulpit 
 the other Sunday ! " she said, with a little laugh ; " and 
 what a naughty lass it was who put your overcoat and 
 hat on the transit tripod and labeled the improvised 
 ^^%y : ' Old Sweetness^ with the added explanation : 
 * That is to say, his honey is good, but his wax is 
 treacherous ! ' Oh, these girls are veiy demoralizing ! " 
 
 Dr. Wilton laughed retrospectively, and Milford's 
 college memories helped him to appreciate the force 
 of the young woman's allusions. 
 
 "At all events, you will come to the lecture," said 
 the old man, as if to close the interview, " the subject 
 will be sure of a novel and interesting discussion." 
 
 "Yes, I will come," Milford answered, " and, so far 
 as the co-education of sexes goes, I'm not sure but 
 that I shall favor the lecturer's views." 
 
52 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," exclaimed Miss Wilton^ 
 and there was a considerable show of genuineness in 
 her manner as she continued, " I do hope you'll help us 
 in our darling scheme. We want to write inter sylvis 
 academi on our cards, as freely, and, if we like, as un- 
 grammatically, as the young gentlemen do on theirs." 
 
 The old pony's head had been turned by this time, 
 and the little equipage trundled off, leaving Milford to 
 go his way. He walked on, his step somewhat the 
 lighter after the conference, and it was with some diffi- 
 culty that his thoughts struggled back to the discussion 
 of his business prospects. Miss Wilton had made no 
 definite impression upon him ; still there lingered a very 
 pleasing sense of her free, fresh grace of manner and 
 speech, together with the suggestion of force and earn- 
 estness that lay below her half-bantering tone and 
 words. Perhaps he felt brightened and encouraged in 
 a degree by the cheerfulness and good-comradeship of 
 the father and daughter. 
 
 Dr. Wilton was the president of the college at Bank- 
 ersville, a Presbyterian institution, known far and near 
 as a quiet, wholesome, well regulated school for young 
 men, a school which had been besieged for some years 
 by certain enthusiasts bent upon turning it into a univer- 
 sity open to both the sexes. Milford, who was himself 
 a Presbyterian, had sought the acquaintance of Dr. 
 Wilton soon after coming to Bankersville, and had 
 found the old gentleman a most genial as well as con- 
 
A BANKER OF BANKEKSVILLE, 53 
 
 genial friend. He had heard the daughter, Miss Marian 
 Wilton, spoken of frequently, but never in a way to 
 excite his imagination or even his curiosity. In fact 
 he had been led, in some way, to think of her, when he 
 thought of her at all, as a mere child, too old to be 
 petted and too young to be interesting. Still, it is a 
 fact that a bright, earnest girl, rarely fails, when she 
 crosses the field of a young man's vision, to leave a 
 pleasurable disturbance of some kind. Possibly Milford 
 was peculiarly susceptible or receptive just then, being 
 in the transition-state leading from a species of despair 
 to a broad sense of relief if not of hopefulness. Miss 
 Wilton did not vanish entirely from his mind, even when 
 he again took up the thread of his business relations. 
 
 When he reached the office he found a considerable 
 change in the arrangement of things. The furniture 
 had been shifted a great deal, so that the room looked 
 strange. Lawson was in conversation with an angular, 
 nervous man whom Milford recognized at once as a 
 leading banker and speculator, but with whom he was 
 not acquainted. 
 
 '' Mr. Milford, let me introduce you to Mr. McGin- 
 nis," said Lawson, " Mr. Milford, my partner, Mr. 
 McGinnis, of the Farmers* National Bank." 
 
 While the gentlemen were shaking hands Lawson 
 stood by rubbing his palms together and smiling in a 
 bland, satisfied way. 
 
 *' I brought Mr. McGinnis up to show him our oflfice, 
 
54 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 and I told him we wanted to get acquainted with all 
 the leaders of business in Bankersville," he went on to 
 say. " Of course you know that Mr. McGinnis stands 
 at the head of the list. Not that we can hope for any 
 fees from him — knows too much law himself for that, 
 but his influence is magical." 
 
 Singularly enough Mr. McGinnis received this rather 
 broad and arid flattery with evident relish and as food 
 he was used to. 
 
 '* I may be able to throw something in your way, gen- 
 tlemen/' he said with the air of one quite sure of his 
 power and its value. *' I have a way of controlling a 
 good many strings of business." He took a cigar from 
 an open box on a desk. "You begin on a good 
 brand, Mr. Lawson," he continued, "but I guess you'll 
 be able to keep up to it." 
 
 " Oh, the best is quite good enough for me," Law- 
 son lightly exclaimed, " I am easy to suit when I get 
 what I want." 
 
 The banker laughed and looked at Milford, who did 
 not appear much impressed with the importance of the 
 occasion. 
 
 " Let me give you young men some good advice," 
 Mr. McGinnis said, in the course of a short conversa- 
 tion which followed. " Mr. Lawson must be the active, 
 working member of the firm, while Mr. Milford sits in 
 the office and looks wise. That's the way to rope them 
 in and fasten them, ha ! ha ! ha! " 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 55 
 
 "Just my idea, exactly," exclaimed Lawson, laying 
 his hand on the banker's shoulder. *' You're up to all 
 the latest fashions, Mr. McGinnis." 
 
 Milford did not relish all this ; he felt something 
 almost repulsive in the atmosphere, and yet both Law- 
 son and McGinnis wore the look of honesty, and their 
 conversation seemed too light to be considered in any 
 estimate of character. 
 
 When the banker was gone, Lawson seated himself 
 in Milford's easy-chair, leaned back, and with his feet 
 crossed on the top of the desk, smoked very deliber- 
 ately. Evidently he was pleased with himself. *'Well, 
 how do you like my way of beginning?" he inquired, 
 looking up into Milford's rather somber face with a 
 broad, genial smile, but with no sign of really desiring 
 an answer to his question. Indeed, he appeared to have 
 settled the matter in his own mind. Blowing a cloud 
 of smoke back over his head, he added : " We'll be a 
 popular firm, from the word go, see if we won't. The 
 editor of the Scar will be up presently to interview me. 
 I've got that arranged. Nothing like the press, you 
 know. And, best of all, I'm going to take Miss Crabb 
 to the lecture this evening ; she's the new reporter, you 
 know, come here a few days ago from Ringville to take 
 a place on the News. Oh, trust me to advertise ! " He 
 slapped his heavy, shapely leg as he finished and 
 laughed merrily. 
 
 Milford looked at him half annoyed and half aston- 
 
56 A BANKER OF BANKERSV ILLE. 
 
 ished, but there was an undercurrent of admiration in 
 his feelings as well. What superb self-confidence this 
 young fellow had, and how easily he was beginning a 
 career! Milford's mind naturally exaggerated the 
 effect of Lawson's rapid advance in the direction of 
 giving eclat to the new law firm ; it was as if clients 
 were already knocking at the door ; and yet he felt a 
 heavy reserve of protest against this broad assumption 
 of personal importance by his partner. When, after a 
 while, the editor of the Scar came in, with his shrewd 
 face diVid pince-nez eye-glasses, to hold the interview, 
 and Lawson boldly asserted that the new firm was the 
 best equipped of all the firms in Bankersville for doing 
 a large and successful practice, and that already it was 
 " forging to the front," Milford was astounded as well 
 as mortified ; but the editor took his notes in a matter- 
 of-fact way, asking a question now and then, with the 
 evident purpose of making the outcome of it all a most 
 taking advertisement, and without any show of sus- 
 pecting that Lawson was in the least given to romance. 
 
 '' That's cheap at ten dollars," the young man ex- 
 claimed, turning to Milford when the editor was gone ; 
 " the country people all read the Scar. We'll rope 
 them in, as McGinnis said, don't you think so ? " 
 
 " You speak as if our of^ce were a gambling den, or 
 a deadfall of some sort," said Milford. " I don't fancy 
 the comparison." 
 
 '* It all goes to the same tune of ' rope them in, ' " 
 responded Lawson with a coarse, loud laugh. 
 
M 
 
 IV. 
 
 ILFORD went back to Mrs. O'SIaughtery's 
 boarding-house for supper, notwithstanding his 
 determination to remove his luggage to a hotel, and 
 it was with unusual care that he dressed himself for 
 the lecture. Not that he was inclined to attach much 
 importance to the occasion or to the matter of his 
 clothes ; it was as if he intuitively foresaw that his 
 life was going to begin afresh, as it were, with some 
 new element added to its substance. It is not often 
 that a man is permitted to note so sudden a change in 
 the tide of his experience as this which Milford now 
 fancied he felt. True he was of a very imaginative 
 temperament, much more a poet than a lawyer, in fact, 
 so far as mere bent of mind could go, but Lawson had 
 been a genuine realistic revelation to him of how easy it 
 is for some men to gather up with one swift reach of the 
 hand the beginnings of a career, and whilst he felt a 
 pang of humiliation, as he acknowledged his own sud- 
 denly borrowed impetus, he caught ^something of the 
 exhilaration of movement after his long and dis- 
 tressing inactivity. Dressing himself with con- 
 scientious care this evening was a part of the new 
 order of things, an involuntary recognition of 
 
58 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 the change in his worldly prospects. How strange it 
 is that nearly all the so-called smiles of fortune are 
 rooted in something very like self-abasement to the 
 recipient of the precious light those smiles irradiate! 
 Personal advancement, that is, the projection of one's 
 self beyond one's acknowledged limitations, in so 
 many instances is at the cost of giving up some 
 principle by which one has long been safely 
 guided. Below the satisfaction, or rather the 
 charm of any sudden victory in our worldly strug- 
 gle, there lurks a sense of some unworthy element 
 which has entered into our life to disturb our enjoy- 
 ment of our winnings. 
 
 Milford, while he did not see how he had trans- 
 gressed any moral statute or any ethical tradition^ 
 nursed a certain sense of not having held on to his 
 high standard of personal dignity. He felt that he 
 had surrendered, in some way not noble or wholly 
 worthy, his superiority, his individual birthright of 
 precedence in this dicker with Lawson, and yet he 
 grasped with the clearness of prophecy that it had 
 opened a new field of life to him, which, if he would 
 enter it, would yield him a fortune. Not that he 
 viewed Lawson as some splendid genius come to 
 crown him with sudden success ; it was the insight, if 
 but a glimpse, which Lawson's irrepressible young 
 Americanism had given him of the methods by which 
 meteor-like notoriety and swiftly-heaped fortunes are 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 59 
 
 compassed. Already he saw how certain of his dearest 
 scruples would have to be abandoned and how his old- 
 fashioned rules of life would have to be repealed before 
 he could grasp the success after which Lawson was 
 going to clutch so vigorously. Perhaps he foresaw that 
 Lawson was destined to lead, in fact as well as in 
 name, the business operations of the new firm, and 
 that by this means the young enthusiast was to become 
 in a large degree the shaper of his, Milford's, destiny 
 Of course, all this belonged to that state of mind which 
 follows relief from a great strain, and which precedes 
 the reforming and rearranging of the lines of life. 
 Milford's outlook had been so gloomy and despair had 
 been averted in so unexpected a way at the very last 
 moment that he viewed his turn of luck as almost mi- 
 raculous, and was inclined to magnify its possible mean- 
 ing and promise, as well as to exaggerate the enormity 
 of its moral cost in the loss of dignity and self-respect. 
 It had been his purpose and hope when he opened a 
 law office in Bankersville, to obtain a practice in his 
 profession by force of his legal learning and qualifica- 
 tions, and he had not thought of the possibility of 
 failure, until failure had in fact come to him, along 
 with the discovery that success in the world depends 
 more upon what he had heard vulgarly called " cheek," 
 than upon high intellectual attainments and a dignified 
 course of action. 
 
 He went to hear the lecture, and found it trite, illog- 
 
6o A B A NICER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 ical and full of the tricks long since made stale by 
 demagogues. Lawson was there with Miss Crabb, to 
 whom he paid more attention than he did to the 
 speaker. Milford noticed, however, that Miss Crabb, 
 who was a tall, rather angular, but vivacious blonde, 
 did not allow the occasion to pass without making a 
 great display of note-taking. Her fingers appeared to 
 be surprisingly nimble. 
 
 Dr. Wilton was conspicuous in the audience, on 
 account of his fine, benevolent face and wealth of 
 snowy beard. His daughter sat beside him, appar- 
 ently absorbed in the lecture, and Milford wondered 
 if it were possible for a young woman of her evidently 
 clear and well-trained mind to be interested in so 
 transparent a tissue of platitudes. He could not help 
 glancing at her whenever the speaker advanced some 
 well-worn sophism clothed in threadbare phrasing, to 
 see if he could detect in her face any evidence of dis- 
 gust or weariness, but her clear, grave eyes made no 
 sign, and her firm, sweet, half-pouting lips retained their 
 beautiful composure throughout the reading. Some- 
 thing in her air, and in her perfect equilibrium of pose, 
 affected him with an obscure sense of her superior 
 qualities of character. It was as if she were undergo- 
 ing with superb fortitude the test of torture. At 
 least his imagination sought this rather unromantic 
 solution of the fascinating enigma she appeared to 
 him. He felt sure that she could not acknowledge 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 6 1 
 
 herself in accord with this narrow zealot's broken 
 screed of unreason, no matter how earnestly she 
 might adhere to the larger doctrines of the " woman's 
 rights " philosophy, and yet her face gave no evidence 
 of dissent ; her eyes were on the speaker's face, and 
 her delicately-modeled ears appeared to take in, with 
 very earnest, if not eager attention, every word of the 
 long, florid sentences. Miss Crabb seemed to think of 
 the lecture merely as an occasion for getting some- 
 thing to print in the News, without any reference 
 whatever to its actual merits, and Milford was con- 
 scious of a doubt as to which was the more agreeable 
 to him. Miss Wilton's perfect poise of attention and 
 possible interest, or the nervous reporter's fussy bursts 
 of note-taking. And yet his eyes returned and 
 returned many times, to rest, for the moment that 
 politeness permitted, on Miss Wilton's fine head and 
 graceful shoulders. 
 
 When at last the lecture was over, Milford made his 
 way out of the room, oppressed with a very unsatis- 
 factory state of mind. In a sort of large vestibule he 
 found Miss Crabb introducing Lawson to Dr. Wilton 
 and his daughter. It seemed that Miss Crabb had 
 been acquainted with the doctor from her childhood, 
 though she had come but recently to Bankersville. 
 
 *' Mr. Lawson has just assumed the lead in a law- 
 firm just established here," she was rapidly saying, 
 " and I am prophesying his quick and brilliant success." 
 
62 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " I certainly wish you success in your noble profes- 
 sion, Mr. Lawson," Dr. Wilton gravely said, much in 
 the tone of a professor speaking to a juvenile student, 
 holding the lawyer's hand for a moment. 
 
 ** Thank you," said Lawson, bowing with that 
 peculiar half grace of his, the smile on his smooth 
 face accentuating the pleasing dimple in the center of 
 his chin. '' I shall make a rousing effort to realize your 
 kind hope, and, frankly, I feel perfectly sure of myself." 
 
 " Oh, he takes his place with all the' aplomb and 
 audacity of genius," exclaimed Miss Crabb. *' He 
 undoubtedly is one of the irrepressible young men of 
 our day." 
 
 Milford passed on into the open air, leaving the 
 group behind, just as Miss Wilton was saying some- 
 thing to Lawson, who was regarding her with frank 
 admiration and pleasure beaming from his eyes. The 
 people, after streaming out of the chapel doorway, 
 straggled off in groups along the many diverging 
 paths of the college campus among the dim shadows 
 under the trees. The moon was on high and shining 
 with great power, but its light was so broken by the 
 lace-work of boughs and the mingled tassels and 
 young spring leaves that it barely tempered to the eye 
 the gloom of the wide grove. Milford walked slowly, 
 enjoying the woodsy freshness of the night air while 
 indulging irrelevant reflections upon the lecture and 
 its surroundings. Presently Lawson and Miss Crabb, 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 63 
 
 going very fast, passed him just as he was about to 
 emerge from the campus into the street. 
 
 " Oh, she is just charming^'* Miss Crabb explained, 
 in her rapidest manner, '' and she is so intellectual, too, 
 and so well-read ; she has a mind like a man's." 
 
 " She is superbly beautiful, as well," remarked Law- 
 son. " I never saw such beautiful eyes. I dare say 
 she is an exceptionally intelligent young woman." 
 
 *' Yes, she is," said Miss Crabb. *' She has just 
 returned from a finishing course in a Boston school 
 and a tour abroad. She is well rounded." Miss 
 Crabb uttered this last phrase with an emphasis sug- 
 gestive of its wealth of meaning. 
 
 " Ah, indeed, there is where I saw her. I felt sure 
 I had seen her before to-night," Lawson exclaimed ; 
 " it was in Venice, I recollect now." 
 
 "Oh! you have been in Europe, have you, Mr. 
 Lawson ? Why, I shall add that to my news items." 
 
 *' Yes, I squandered my little patrimony in foreign 
 travel," he responded, ''but you needn't print that. 
 It's the oats that I'm going to sow, not the crop I have 
 reaped already, that I want to be judged by." 
 
 " Certainly, I understand that very well ; you 
 wouldn't be a man if you were willing for the whole 
 truth to be known about you," said Miss Crabb, with 
 the utmost complacency, '* but your wishes shall be 
 respected ; your carousals in London and your short- 
 comings in Paris, and " 
 
64 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " Mercy ! please stop," he exclaimed, shrugging his 
 shoulders, '* these trees may have ears ! " 
 
 She laughed a little at his dramatic simulation of 
 concern ; indeed, she may have suspected that his acting 
 had a modicum of genuine reality in its composition. 
 
 " She passed me on one of those famous bridges in 
 Venice," he said, resuming a thought which he 
 seemed to relish, ** and I have never seen her since 
 until this evening. Nor had I ever seen her before 
 that meeting. Strange, but we recognized each other 
 at once ; I am sure it was mutual." 
 
 " Romance," exclaimed the reporter, almost gayly ; 
 " a genuine bit from Jane Porter or Ann Radcliff. I 
 may print that, mayn't I ? " 
 
 '* Not for the world — the whole world," said he. 
 ** My past must be a sealed book, a dreadful mystery, 
 for a young lawyer can't afford the luxury of a record. 
 Let me start like one of those whirlwinds generated 
 on a dry, hot day, rushing from nowhere forth upon 
 my chosen career." 
 
 He spoke rather grandiloquently and in a bantering 
 way, but Miss Crabb, who delighted in catching at 
 remote suggestions, fancied that what he said was not 
 wholly in jest. Furthermore, she allowed her imagi- 
 nation to perceive a touch of incipient tenderness in 
 his version of the momentary meeting on the storied 
 bridge, and of the instantaneous recollection of it by 
 the actors a little while ago. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 65 
 
 " Bankersville needs a whirlwind or two," she pres- 
 ently replied. " There never was a town so staid and 
 stagnant ; it's a great, big, sweet, unruffled Presbyterian 
 pool, and every day is Sunday in its neighborhood." 
 
 ''Never mind, I'll stir it to its bottom and raise 
 such waves as its shores never have felt," he rejoined, 
 as if coming back to himself from distant thoughts. 
 " I see great possibilities in the situation and sur- 
 roundings." 
 
 *' I'm glad you do," she said. " Enjoy the fancy 
 while you can. The bubble will burst soon enough." 
 
 '' Like the great soldier, I come led by the star of 
 destiny and attended by the god of battles," he said, 
 turning upon her his clear, strong eyes, and laughing 
 a little as he spoke. ** You need not fear for my 
 bubbles ; they defy even the breath of fate." 
 
 Milford heard a part of this conversation, then 
 walked slower, to avoid hearing more. He had 
 scarcely reached the street when Dr. Wilton and his 
 daughter came up to his side in the full flood of moon- 
 light; their home was but a few steps away. He 
 walked with them as far as the gate, where, as they 
 paused, the doctor said : 
 
 " Did you ever before chance to hear such stuff? " 
 
 Milford stole a furtive glance at the young woman, 
 but she was very composed and was quietly smiling 
 upon her father. 
 
 ** I should think," the young man answered, " that 
 
66 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 the lecturer was not in his happiest mood this evening. 
 We are all subject to ' off * periods, when every thing 
 refuses to serve our turn." 
 
 " Shouldn't you feel better to be quite frank and 
 outright, Mr. Milford," said the young woman, " and 
 say that you have been listening with prejudiced ears 
 and in an unreceptive temper?" 
 
 " Daughter, daughter, you shouldn't put things offen- 
 sively," Dr. Wilton chided. " You are too enthusiastic." 
 
 '' After all," Milford hastened to say, " I fear I am 
 guilty as charged by Miss Milford. I did go to the 
 lecture prejudiced and stiff-necked, and came away 
 still more so." 
 
 She laughed as one who returns to amiability with 
 a child's whole-heartedness, and with the ring of per- 
 fect sincerity in her voice said : 
 
 *' It must be too late for you to come in with us to 
 have our quarrel out now, but my father and I shall 
 expect you to call. Sometimes I don't ride my hobby, 
 and am not at all disagreeable." 
 
 Milford left them with the feeling troubling him, 
 that in some way, this clear-eyed, earnest girl was going 
 to get a hold on his mind. He was not so young that 
 he did not understand what this might mean. On 
 the contrary, he acknowledged to himself with candor 
 that it would be possible for him to love her. 
 
 He went into his office to smoke before going to 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery's, but his contemplative mood was 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 67 
 
 broken up by Lawson, who came in with some busi- 
 ness schemes to talk over. 
 
 *' I just now heard that the city council has no attor- 
 ney," the young man exclaimed, making a plunge at the 
 cigar box. " Miss Crabb told me, in fact, and it strikes 
 me that I ought to be able to get the appointment." 
 
 " Well, even if you could get it," Milford responded, 
 ** the business is all petty and annoying and the salary 
 is a mere trifle." 
 
 Lawson drew down his brows in a thoughtful way, 
 and, without noticing Milford's objections, added : 
 
 " I'll try to see McGinnis soon in the morning ; I 
 think he might manage it for me." 
 
 " It isn't worth while, I assure you, Mr. Lawson," 
 urged Milford. *'The office is a barren one." 
 
 " Barren lands are sometimes full of ore. Possibly I 
 might find the gold. I make bold to say that the office 
 of city attorney of Bankersville can be made a very 
 honorable and a very lucrative one," Lawson replied ; 
 " but the old motto : first catch your carp, etc., is to 
 be kept in mind." 
 
 Milford did not say any thing further, and Lawson 
 remained thoughtful for a while. Presently, with a 
 flash of enthusiasm in his face the latter sprang to his 
 feet and exclaimed : 
 
 " There are possibilities in this scheme worth a hard 
 struggle. 1*11 have that appointment if the thing is at 
 all within my power." 
 
BANKERSVILLE was an Indiana town, but it did 
 not differ from other towns of the older western 
 states on that account. It may have had eight or ten 
 thousand population, rather less than more, and it had 
 wide streets, clean side-walks, beautiful homes and 
 many long lines of maple trees. Notwithstanding Miss 
 Crabb's charge that it was stagnant, it was thrifty, 
 ** stirring," and, to a degree, rich. For a few years last 
 past Bankersville had experienced what is indefinitely 
 called a healthy growth in both its business strength 
 and its general outward appearance of prosperity. It 
 had, in fact, fallen swiftly into city ways and was begin- 
 ning to indulge in certain luxuries peculiar to centers 
 where culture and extravagance go familiarly hand in 
 hand. It was noted for two things above all others, its 
 college and its banks, indeed the banks were so numer- 
 ous and so prosperous that one might have fancied a 
 connection between this fact and the name Bankers- 
 ville ; but the record showed a different origin for the 
 appellation, a derivation from the cognomen of an illit- 
 erate farmer, Jere Banker, who had, about the year 
 1830, donated the plat upon which the lately built and 
 really handsome brown stone court-house now stood, 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 69 
 
 and it may be added that this same Jere Banker, long 
 before he died, had seen his entire farm swallowed up 
 in the growth of the town. All the country around 
 Bankersville was extremely fertile and under high culti- 
 vation, so that one might drive for miles in any direc- 
 tion, over some one of the many fine gravel roads, be- 
 tween broad fields and always in sight of big red barns 
 and comfortable farm-houses. It was a region of corn, 
 wheat, oats, blue-grass, fat cattle and rotund hay-stacks, 
 as well as a paradise of healthy brown-faced youths 
 and rosy-cheeked, bouncing lasses. This fat land fed 
 Bankersville and made it grow and thrive. No large 
 city was very near, so that this fortunate town ruled, 
 with more or less tyranny, over a space much wider 
 than the county of which it was the seat of justice. 
 People liked the place. Visitors came and bore away 
 its praises into distant quarters of the country. 
 Nomads of the press, those optimistic, opal-eye- 
 glassed, always welcome correspondents, wrote long 
 letters to the metropolitan newspapers describing the 
 maple groves, the tasteful homes and the literary aspi- 
 rations of Bankersville, until the name Boston of the 
 west came to be something more than a mere joke. 
 
 The population of Bankersville had been influenced 
 to a considerable degree, by the rigid morals and excel- 
 lent teaching of the college whose beginnings as an 
 institution had been contemporaneous with the found- 
 ing of the town. The aristocracy of the place, such 
 
7© A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 aristocracy as it was, very naturally had been from the 
 first mailed with Presbyterian armor and actuated by 
 clean and pure motives. College Hill, as that quarter 
 of the town near the park-like, densely-shaded campus 
 was called, was that part of the town which first gave 
 evidence of a dawning prosperity by the building of 
 certain plain but decidedly spacious and comfortable 
 houses, the homes of the professors. These particular 
 homes, together with the stately college pile and the 
 forty acres of campus, remained the chief objects of 
 interest in Bankersville long after it was known as a 
 city, and to them were directed all visiting strangers. 
 Indeed, Bankersville folk wore their honors with a com- 
 placency and outward humility that covered a deal of 
 pride. The strictest among them scarcely demurred 
 when the phrases " Boston of the West," and '' the 
 Hoosier Athens," were politely bandied around, phrases, 
 by the way, that made the mayor and common council 
 feel bound to give a literary flavor to certain occasional 
 ordinances and proclamations. The college had sown 
 broadcast a taste for polite learning to an extent that 
 had generated a smack of genuine culture, so that a 
 few Bankersville people went so far as to pronounce 
 such words as calm, half, cant, laugh, etc., with the 
 sound of a in father ; but of course the final g was 
 snubbed and the subjunctive mood remained uncon- 
 querable. 
 
 Liberality is an excellent word, and it might be 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 7 1 
 
 applied in its most liberal sense to Bankersville, for 
 the little city's broad streets, wide grassy lawns, its 
 cleanliness, its home-like homes and its substantial 
 fences were nothing if not indicative of the hearts of 
 the people. Munificent liberality, too, had been 
 bestowed upon the college by rich men, until now the 
 corporation was possessed of some millions in excel- 
 lent funds. Nor was the city body much behind that 
 of the college in financial condition ; it was out of debt 
 and had a large surplus in the treasury; therefore, when 
 Lawson with the aid of McGinnis got the office of city 
 attorney, it was an honorable if not a pecuniarily prof- 
 itable one. The eclat with which the young man 
 flung himself into the vacant place was a clever bit of 
 advertising, which did not fail to fetch good returns. 
 Men began at once to drop into the office of Lawson & 
 Milford with this or that question of law or of fact, 
 touching the corporate affairs. Many young lawyers of 
 Bankersville maligned and vilified themselves for not 
 having seen this opportunity, which Lawson had so 
 brilliantly turned to his account. They failed to under- 
 stand that it was the man who had lent force to the 
 chance, and not the reverse. 
 
 Lawson was much talked of because he made food 
 for talk. He spent much time in the streets seeking 
 the acquaintance of leading men from all parts of the 
 country, taxing his memory with faces and names, nor 
 did he neglect any of the public meetings in the " out 
 
72 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 townships," no matter what their nature. He was 
 not an orator, but he could talk very well before a 
 crowd and he made friends easily. 
 
 At first those lawyers who chiefly controlled the busi- 
 ness of Bankersville were strongly inclined to speak 
 humorously of Lawson's pretensions, but somehow 
 this humor was short-lived ; success compelled respect, 
 and then his manner of dealing with men was so frank, 
 and he had such an open face and such a hearty, tak- 
 ing voice, that it was impossible not to like him. 
 Every body looked upon him as upon a brilliant, pre- 
 cocious boy, so much did his smoothly-shaven face 
 and tender complexion overcome the effect of his 
 mature stature and of his evident knowledge of the 
 world. This delusion, or illusion, was greatly in his 
 favor, for the American people have a passion for 
 helping young fellows who are smart and clever, espe- 
 cially if they are " fine-looking," that is, of strong phy- 
 sique and of courageous bearing. Avoirdupois is quite 
 as essential to the average senator as intellectual 
 strength ; and a suave manner is as valuable as the 
 most liberal education to the ambitious young Ameri- 
 can. Youth, of itself, goes for more in our country 
 than it goes for anywhere else upon the earth. Let it 
 be known that a genius is mature and the effect will 
 be to deaden public interest in its doings. On 
 the other hand, the promise of youth, the morn- 
 ing freshness of achievements by beardless heroes and 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 73 
 
 budding heroines takes all the land by storm, espe- 
 cially if the callow genius have a rumor of personal 
 beauty as its supplement and auxiliary. The stage, 
 the forum, the rostrum, the *' stump " (that American 
 platform so fast rotting away) and the pulpit, give 
 their finest victories to youth and beauty ; personal 
 magnetism is the phrase and that means animal 
 force. 
 
 Lawson may have foreseen some of the advantages 
 that he was to reap from his appointment to the city 
 attorneyship, but it would be making too broad a state- 
 ment to say that he even dreamed of what a wide field 
 it would open to him. He did clearly understand that 
 the feeling in favor of public improvements was deep- 
 ening rapidly in Bankersville and he saw, in a con- 
 fused way, the possibilities connected with a full treas- 
 ury and a people anxious for the money to go into 
 schemes for the glory and prosperity of the city; but 
 the mass of his thoughts in this connection was chaotic 
 enough. Milford felt, with a satisfaction never before 
 experienced by him, how, day after day, and week after 
 week, signs of a prosperous practice appeared in the 
 law office. By degrees the sense of an indirect self- 
 abasement in the matter faded out, or fell behind the 
 knowledge that he at last was coming to his own, and 
 he began to assert himself in the questions of business 
 that arose in the course of affairs. He was a much bet- 
 ter lawyer than Lawson and a far more graceful and 
 
74 
 
 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 fluent orator ; but Lawson took the lead and kept it 
 by sheer force of tact and enterprise. 
 
 One day near the middle of summer, a time when 
 many of the lawyers were off on vacation tours, Law- 
 son came in to the office, smoking as usual, and began 
 talking about a scheme before the common council for 
 the building of a city water-works. 
 
 " I am opposed to the whole thing, from beginning 
 to end," said Milford, with a promptness and decision 
 that made his partner open wide his clear blue eyes. 
 " It's a job of the most dangerous kind." 
 
 Lawson pondered a moment, then, with a quick 
 gleam of satisfaction in his face, said : 
 
 " Well, perhaps it's well enough for one of us to op- 
 pose the measure while the other supports it. It will 
 show up — " he stopped short and pondered again. 
 "Oh, for that matter," he continued, "we needn't care 
 much about it. It will affect us very little. Upon the 
 whole, you'd better stay out of the discussion alto- 
 gether. It might hurt our practice ; besides my official 
 connections render it a very delicate subject to us." 
 
 Milford felt aglow of resentment pass over him, but 
 he made no reply until he had fully mastered the feel- 
 ing, and even then he merely said : 
 
 "You can not afford to have any thing to do 
 with it." 
 
 " Never fear for me," exclaimed Lawson, laughing 
 lightly and shrugging his shoulders with an assuring 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 75 
 
 motion. "I'll be on the inside or nowhere, and — " he 
 hesitated a moment before adding : " in the lead or 
 not turning a wheel." 
 
 Milford did not feel justified in giving the worst in- 
 terpretation to Lawson's words, and yet he could not 
 wholly repress the disgust that arose in his heart for 
 what they seemed to imply. He looked steadily into 
 the young man's eyes and said : 
 
 " Of course, water-works can be built without any 
 jobbery, but I don't think they will be in this instance, 
 therefore I do not think our firm can afford to touch 
 the subject." 
 
 " Oh, no, our firm must steer clear of the whole 
 thing," responded Lawson, " you are quite right. Be- 
 sides, there's nothing for us to do, as lawyers, in that 
 connection. It's a mere business affair between the 
 city council and the water-works contractors. Oh, you 
 keep out, it's no place for you." 
 
 " I don't need your advice, but I shall act upon it, 
 nevertheless," said Milford in as light a voice and man- 
 ner as he could command, " and you might profit by 
 my example." 
 
 At this point some one entered the office ; Lawson 
 sprang up, with a profuse show of delight, to welcome 
 Mr. McGinnis. *'Come into the other room, here," he 
 said, after a word or two of greeting, " Milford will ex- 
 cuse us." He took the banker by the arm and they 
 turned toward the door of a consultation-room. 
 
76 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 McGinnis looked back over his shoulder and laugh- 
 ingly said : 
 
 *' We are going to plot treason, rebellion and all 
 other terrible things that a good man like you doesn't 
 approve of." 
 
 Milford did not relish the humor any more than he 
 liked the secrecy at which it openly hinted. He did 
 not fully understand how McGinnis, a strict member of 
 the church, could dare to enter into a scheme to rob 
 the city, and yet he felt that something of the sort was 
 but poorly hidden in the plotting now going on. A 
 right-minded man, who has seen a great deal of the 
 business world, is quick to discover the badges of 
 sharp-dealing and of doubtful moral purpose. 
 
 The consultation between McGinnis and Lawson 
 was a long one, at the end of which they left the office 
 together, and Lawson returned no more that day. 
 
 Milford had been invited to take tea at Dr. Wil- 
 ton's, where he should meet a young man who was 
 beginning a very promising literary career, and whose 
 name had been tossed, with flattering accompani- 
 ments, from newspaper to newspaper, for some 
 months, and whose new book had reached its twen- 
 tieth edition. This young man, Arthur Selby, was a 
 distant kinsman of Dr. Wilton, a second cousin, per- 
 haps, and had just returned from a long course of 
 study in Germany. It was a matter of some interest, 
 Milford thought, to meet such a person, and he was 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 77 
 
 not at all prepared to see a little round-shouldered, 
 pudgy fellow, whose face was rather dull and heavy, 
 and whose air was that of a blase dry-goods clerk. He 
 had almost to stoop in order to shake hands comfort- 
 ably with this famous young novelist, and he felt a 
 sense as of a sudden lesion affecting the high admira- 
 tion he had hitherto given the literary calling, to think 
 that this was the man who had, by a single wave of 
 his hand, as it were, changed the public taste and 
 made romance take the place of realism. He cer- 
 tainly did not look like a writer of romance, with his 
 somewhat bald head, his common place eyes and his 
 square-set jaws, to say nothing of his spectacles with 
 their slender gold claws hooked over his rather large 
 ears. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Milburn," the author said, not quite able 
 to get Milford's hand and name at the same effort, 
 " you are an ex-confederate soldier, I believe — a colo. 
 nel, of course." 
 
 " Milford, not Milburn, is my name. No, I can not 
 claim the military title," said Milford, " and I do not 
 consider my connection with the rebel army a subject 
 of any present interest." 
 
 *' Perhaps your view is the best possible, Mr. Mil- 
 ford," Selby promptly replied, with a sort of apology 
 in his perfectly modulated voice. " It is the now and 
 the future that should concern us, not the past. I am a 
 good deal of a neologist, I train with the young school." 
 
78 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 *' There are so many young schools," said Miss Wil- 
 ton, " one must be an expert to keep free of all." 
 
 " I shouldn't care to avoid any one of them," Selby 
 responded. " Every new thing adds a little, at least, 
 to the sum of progress. I feel this more sensibly with 
 every day I spend here in the West. What a wide- 
 awake, free-for-all, go-as-you-please society you have ! " 
 
 *' But our society isn't any thing of the sort," said 
 Miss Wilton, with that rare blending of earnestness 
 and sweetness in her voice which never fails to make 
 one forget that a controversy is in hand. " Our soci- 
 ety is not free-for-all, nor is it go-as-you-please, in the 
 least. If that's the mistaken view you start out with, 
 your forthcoming romance of western life will be 
 absolutely worthless." 
 
 Selby laughed merrily, his eyes lighting up and his 
 whole face for a moment giving forth a flash of the 
 genius that was in him. 
 
 " You can't frighten me in that way," he exclaimed. 
 " My romances don't depict life as it is, but as I think 
 it should be in order to make it dramatic and interest- 
 ing. You forget that I am a romancer and yet I am 
 one of the realists." 
 
 " I don't like you on that account," said Miss Wil- 
 ton. *' This world is no place for romance of any sort ; 
 it is a matter-of-fact world, a world in which men's 
 chief concern should be to be honest, earnest, indus- 
 trious and to get on. What's the use of romance?" 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 79 
 
 Milford was looking at her as she spoke, and he 
 saw, beyond her light manner and half-chaffing tone, 
 the real earnestness with which she enunciated her 
 doctrine. He recognized on the instant, too, how 
 much her way of putting it resembled Lawson's. 
 This high valuation of success for its own sake, this 
 emphasis on the importance of business, of affairs, oi 
 getting on, set him at once to thinking of the burden 
 of Lawson's every word, phrase, thought and desire. 
 He involuntarily ran his eyes over her fine form and 
 clear-cut, energetic features with a swift acknowledge 
 ment of something akin to disappointment. 
 
 " I have been telling Miss Wilton that she ought to 
 be a stock speculator, or at the very least, a banker, 
 she is so very matter-of-fact and financial," said Selby, 
 turning to Milford. " I am sure she would soon make 
 a decided success." 
 
 " I am going to be a lawyer," she quickly inter- 
 posed, "I am reading now." 
 
 " You shock me," exclaimed the author, with a 
 simulation of surprise. " Going into the profession of 
 dishonesty! You will be a failure ; you can't do it." 
 
 "Be careful, Mr. Milford is a lawyer," she said. 
 " He might object to your sweeping phraseology." 
 
 " Not at all," said Milford. '' It's an old piece of 
 stage property. The lawyers are scarcely willing to 
 forego the luxury of being mildly persecuted by those 
 who make fiction a purpose in life." 
 
8o A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 "Good!" cried Selby, almost gleefully, "that's a 
 capital slap back, and I deserve it. I can safely rely 
 on myself for getting into ridiculous situations. I 
 thank you for the rebuke." 
 
 Milford could distinguish a certain quality of polite- 
 ness in Selby which seemed to have its root in a genu- 
 inely good heart, a quality which tempered the 
 author's egotism down to the consistency of a humor 
 almost jolly. He felt a little glow of liking for this 
 small, plump, self-possessed, unassuming and yet all- 
 assuming man, take the place of an unfavorable 
 impression. The author's attitude was evidently that 
 of a person standing outside the world and watching 
 
 " With an eye serene 
 The very pulse of the machine," 
 
 an attitude by no means critical, or fault-finding, but 
 simply that of intense though playful analysis. 
 
 The door-bell rang, and Miss Wilton, following the 
 hospitable western custom, went to answer it herself. 
 She soon re-entered with Miss Crabb. The latter 
 glanced around the little parlor with the comprehensive 
 swiftness caught from her profession. When her eyes 
 met those of Selby she almost started, her surprise was 
 so strong. Evidently she had been expecting to see 
 an Adonis or an Apollo and she was thrown entirely 
 off her guard. Live literary lions were not to be met 
 often in Bankersville, however, and she must be content 
 even with the ridiculously little one now before her. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 8 1 
 
 " I have known you, Mr. Selby, in the pleasantest 
 way, perhaps, that it is possible for one person to know 
 another," she began, " your book, that charming me- 
 dium of introduction, has made us friends already. 
 You saw my critique of it in the Neivs, I suppose. Of 
 course I couldn't do it or myself justice in so small a 
 space, but I tried not to slight the subject. You didn't 
 mind my saying that your women are insipid ? " 
 
 "■ Oh, I don't ever mind such a thing, it makes me 
 feel comfortable," he said, " insipid women are so rare 
 that I consider them desirable. It was very kind of 
 you to say that ; but I must acknowledge that I never 
 read critiques under any circumstances. It's too much 
 like witnessing a mild form of autopsy. Upon the 
 whole, book reviews are nonsense, mere stuff." 
 
 ** You're too frank, too ingenuous. Critics are as 
 fond of being read and appreciated as the novelists are. 
 I shall demolish your next book," she retorted. 
 
 Milford was glad of an opportunity to speak a word 
 or two with Miss Wilton, when, after tea was over, 
 they lingered awhile in the cozy little library. She 
 touched a stout legal-looking volume on a table and 
 said that it was her especial object of study now. He 
 looked and saw that it was Blackstone's commentaries, 
 then lifted his eyes to hers with an almost impatient 
 glance. She understood his feeling and arching her 
 brows gave the book a little push. 
 
 "You don't approve," she said, "but why? Surely 
 
82 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 it is a clean and honorable profession. It can not hurt 
 me." 
 
 He looked steadily into her eyes and saw something 
 there that thrilled him strangely. She stood up strong 
 and self-reliant before him, a superbly beautiful woman, 
 and he felt the force of her will as unmistakably as he 
 felt the power of her beauty. Her eyes fell before his, 
 presently, and just the faintest blush suffused her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " I am determined to show the world that I can do 
 it," she added. 
 
 " May I help you?" ne asked. " I shall be glad to 
 give you any assistance in my power. Suppose you 
 let me be your legal preceptor ? " 
 
 She colored a little more, but looked into his face 
 again without any confusion and said : 
 
 ** I already have a teacher. Mr. Lawson is giving 
 me lessons." 
 
 But, despite her calmness, there was, or Milford 
 fancied it, just a touch of preference in her expression, 
 as if she regarded Lawson as the more competent per- 
 son. She may have guessed his thought, for she 
 dropped the subject at once and turning into a little 
 bay-window put aside the curtain. Through a panel 
 of glass a fine view of the moonlit valley of the Wabash 
 appeared, framed in like a picture by the black walnut 
 mullions. In the middle distance the river wound 
 lazily, fringed with a scattering growth of ghostly 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 83 
 
 plane-trees and divided by gleaming sand-bars. The 
 suburban houses of Bankersville further down the 
 valley clung along the bluffs overlooking the wide, 
 fertile fields of " bottom " land now dotted with golden 
 shocks of wheat. 
 
 " Mr. Selby says this is the most charming view this 
 side of Italy," she remarked, standing aside to let 
 Milford look. '' He flatters us a great deal, I think. 
 He is a very close and curious observer." 
 
 It must be remembered that the literary atmosphere 
 of Bankersville was perceptibly troubled by the coming 
 of Arthur Selby, whose visit, a mere resting moment 
 of his flight across the continent, ever afterward would 
 be looked back to with complacent pride by the 
 dwellers on College Hill. Selby himself appeared 
 wholly unaware of being a lion, but he made it contin- 
 ually obvious that he was a novelist and that novel- 
 writing, or rather, romance-writing, was all important 
 to the whole world. He makes no figure in our story 
 and I drop him forthwith, asking the reader to keep 
 in mind the probability that such a character as Selby, 
 with the prestige of his fame, might have left lingering 
 in the air of Bankersville an influence which may 
 account for some slight literary tendencies hereafter 
 traceable. 
 
 '* I should think his occupation a thoroughly delight- 
 ful one," said Milford, catching something of Miss 
 Wilton's respect for the novelist's fame ; " it must give 
 
54 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 him a freedom as large as his desire. Now the law i« 
 different ; it is narrow, stationary, rigid and dry." 
 
 *' I am surprised to hear you say that about your 
 chosen business, your life vocation," she quickly, almost 
 resentfully exclaimed ; "you are not serious, I hope? ' 
 
 ** Yes, I am very serious, indeed. Tell me what 
 genuine prize is open to the lawyer, will you ? " He 
 spoke lightly, almost indifferently, but she felt the 
 undercurrent of his sincerity. 
 
 ** Fame, fortune, a high social career, official life — 
 every thing ! " she said in a low, earnest tone, her voice 
 perceptibly affected by a sudden enthusiasm. "The 
 power of oratory, the consciousness of a great per- 
 sonal influence, the ability to sway a people. The 
 prizes are innumerable and priceless ! " 
 
 He looked at her in silence, while he gathered to- 
 gether some sweet impressions of her fine womanly 
 strength and of her singularly fascinating intensity of 
 character set behind a calm, almost classic face. 
 
 " What is the mere story-writer's calling, his fame, 
 his possibilities, as compared with what may lie in 
 your career? The comparison falls flat — it fills me 
 with something stronger than impatience to think of 
 it!" 
 
 She said this with evident repression of a deeper 
 feeling struggling in her heart, a feeling having its 
 source in her ambition. 
 
 " Oratory is charming, as you exemplify it," he re- 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. «5 
 
 sponded, " but I haven't the gift ; besides, the ground 
 has all been worn into lifeless sterility ; the day is 
 passed when eloquence counted for any thing." 
 
 "■ You are chafifing, you are not in earnest. I under- 
 stand what you are trying to do, but I shall not be 
 driven from my purpose, or let my enthusiasm cool in 
 the least." 
 
 ** You jump to a conclusion," he exclaimed, laugh- 
 ing. ** I would not discourage you if I could. Haven't 
 I offered to help you ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I am too suspicious of you," she said, 
 almost merrily. " I retract it all. I am glad you are 
 willing for me to be a lawyer." 
 
 " But I am not willing," he gently urged, '' I am 
 simply withdrawing from the unequal discussion." 
 Then he returned to the thought of Selby's great and 
 easily-won success as an author. 
 
 '* It is a shame in fact," said Miss Wilton. *' Think 
 of an Eastern man, a Yankee, running through Indi- 
 ana at a gallop, so to speak, and then rushing back to 
 Boston or New York to write a novel of Western life ! 
 What will Mr. Selby know of Bankersville and its peo- 
 ple after a three days' sojourn here? Only yesterday 
 I read in a Washington newspaper that a celebrated 
 novelist of Boston was staying for a week at Willard's, 
 and that in the course of an * interview ' he had said 
 that he had been getting together the material for a 
 novel of Washington social and political life. Think 
 
S6 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 of it ! A week at a hotel and then a great realistic 
 presentation of society at our national capital !" 
 
 Milford laughed, and she continued with suppressed 
 vehemence : 
 
 *' How can a man be content with having his fame 
 rest upon such a basis? I should scorn to be a little 
 fiction-scribbler if I were a man ! " She was silent a 
 moment, then added : " I like personal force, direct- 
 ness, truth. I can't bear the thought of a diminutive 
 — a feminine — a — you know what I mean — a success- 
 ful little person who does nothing large." 
 
 " You don't like the analysts in fiction, then ? " 
 
 " No. Think of a man making it his business in life 
 to write those silly kettle-drum reports of fashionable 
 life, and then think of a Pitt, or a Webster, or a Napo- 
 leon ! " 
 
 She involuntarily glanced across the room at Selby 
 with a sudden, half-scornful impatience. Milford's 
 eyes followed her gaze, and there flashed into his mind 
 a sharp realization of her meaning. Selby looked very 
 little like an ideal man and the basis of his fame cer- 
 tainly was slight, seen from Miss Wilton's point of 
 view. For a moment literary distinction took on a 
 very unattractive aspect. 
 
 "A novelist," observed Miss Wilton in a lighter 
 tone, " is not a great man, no matter how famous — he 
 is little and trivial at best." 
 
VI. 
 
 THERE was an element in Milford's life and 
 experience, fortunately rare in the lives of men, 
 which troubled him a great deal, and sometimes 
 appeared to him an insurmountable barrier to his prog- 
 ress toward success. When the facts of this expe- 
 rience are placed before the reader, as I now purpose 
 to place them, in their most simple conditions, he may 
 judge for himself what effect they might produce in a 
 life set within American limitations and amid the 
 influences left over from our great sectional war. 
 Milford had been reared and educated in Georgia, his 
 parents having migrated thither from Virginia, and he 
 had entered the Confederate army in 1862, at the age 
 of seventeen. Not long after becoming a soldier the 
 impression began to grow in his mind that he was 
 fighting on the wrong side. Naturally a thoughtful, 
 earnest, conscientious youth, this impression, as it 
 matured into conviction, troubled him greatly. In his 
 heart the feeling that he was lending himself to treason 
 without the excuse of believing himself justified by 
 circumstances, was supplemented by his discovery of 
 a widening of his sympathy with the spirit of 
 abolitionism, a spirit which he had been taught to 
 
88 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 look Upon as an abomination. His predicament 
 rapidly became torturing, for on one side were his 
 mother and father, his sisters and all the sweet endear- 
 ments of a cultured and elegant home life; on the 
 other the stern call of conscience and duty. Nor does 
 this statement suggest all. He was fitted by nature 
 to be a daring and intrepid soldier, and his ambition 
 called him toward the goal of a military hero. He felt 
 the impossibility of going over to the enemy and 
 fighting against the South, but not more keenly than he 
 felt the awful turpitude of remaining in the Confeder- 
 ate army and battling for the continuance of human 
 slavery and for the destruction of his country, with not 
 even the ghost of a conscientious excuse for it. More- 
 over, the question continually arose in his mind : could 
 he desert? There seemed to be an element of man- 
 hood that recoiled from the thought ; then, too, 
 what would his mother and father and sisters say? 
 Beyond all, and deep down in his nature, was the fact 
 that he was a Southerner, within the most Southern 
 meaning of the word, to the manner born, with the 
 chivalric, fighting impulse left as a hereditament in his 
 blood by the grant of a long line of proud and bellicose 
 ancestors. The future historian must not overlook 
 this question of heredity when he comes to treat of the 
 causes that brought about the great war between the 
 North and the South ; nor must he fail to find in it 
 that fiery cement which held vast armies together 
 
M BAl^KEn CF BANKERSVILLE, 89 
 
 vjhare father was against son, brother against brother, 
 
 and even mother against child, in the wild struggle 
 which perfected human freedom and purged the con- 
 science of the world. In the case of an individual, 
 Milford, for instance, heredity would have its special 
 effect, but, after all, it is easy to imagine how tena- 
 ciously it would linger in any case, even after a pro- 
 found conviction had destroyed the moral support its 
 deep-seated prejudices had leaned upon. Of course 
 there would be no trouble on the score of actual con- 
 science, but, unfortunately, conscience often seems to 
 be under obligations of no slight sort to one's affec- 
 tions and sentiments and to that subtle law of one's 
 nature which binds one to home, kindred and family 
 tradition. Milford could not rid himself, in those 
 dark days of carnage, of that second conscience which 
 urged him to close his eyes upon the questions of 
 patriotism and human liberty, and to hold fast to the 
 loyalty of a son to his parents and of a Southerner to 
 his section. Nevertheless, his higher conscience at 
 last prevailed, and he abandoned the South and its 
 army. A deserter? Yes and no. He could not 
 choose the vulgar deserter's way of leaving his com- 
 rades. True to a romantic notion of what would be 
 the brave and chivalrous course, he one morning rode 
 boldly up to the head-quarters of his general, and, 
 making his salute, handed that officer a small package, 
 saying as he did so : 
 
go A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " General, here is money enough to pay for this 
 horse I am riding and for these arms I bear. I now 
 take leave of the Confederacy and its army. I have 
 been on the wrong side as long as I can suffer the 
 thought, and I shall henceforth be governed by my 
 conscience." 
 
 With another salute he turned and rode away, put- 
 ting his powerful horse into a wild run. 
 
 The general and his surrounding officers stood in 
 amazement, watching the best soldier of the command 
 tearing off in that mad style. 
 
 ** He's drunk, the impertinent scamp!" said the 
 general with gruff directness. 
 
 *' No, I saw his face, and I know him too well,"' said 
 a staff officer ; *' he meant just what he said." 
 
 Quick orders were given and swift pursuit was made, 
 but Milford escaped and found his way to the North. 
 
 His daring action robbed his offense of its cowardly, 
 sneaking element, but it was desertion, all the same, 
 in the eyes of his family and friends, and it was unpar- 
 donable, it was immitigable. At last a Milford had 
 disgraced the name. What followed is of little con- 
 sequence to our history. The most torpid imagina- 
 tion can not fail to construct a fair outline of Milford's 
 predicament. He had fought with the South, that 
 was much against him in the North, even after the 
 war was ended, and he could not afford to have it 
 known that he was a deserter, though of the most con. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 9 1 
 
 scientious and picturesque sort, for there is something 
 in the thought of desertion which suggests the most 
 contemptible character and the most cowardly man in 
 the world. To have been a rebel was bad, but to 
 have been a rebel deserter was certainly unpardonable. 
 So, while Milford's conscience was clear, his situation 
 was one peculiarly harassing at times. He could not, 
 with proper self-respect, return to the South, and there 
 was much to annoy him in the treatment he received 
 at the hands of the Northern people. Not that any- 
 body tried to persecute him, but being looked upon as 
 an ex-rebel, he often had to meet rebuffs and hin- 
 drances on that account. I have said that his con- 
 science was clear ; this does not mean, however, that 
 he was free from those mental falterings natural to one 
 in his situation. Often enough he upbraided himself 
 for what he had done, and tried to reason to the con- 
 clusion that, after all, patriotism is fulfilled when one 
 fights for the flag that is over one. It means a good 
 deal for a man to give up his parents, his sisters, the 
 home of his childhood and the country of his fore- 
 fathers for conscience' sake ; but it means a great deal 
 more when to his exile is added a sort of necessary 
 disgrace, in his own eyes, and an unutterable abase- 
 ment in the eyes of those for whose love and confi- 
 dence he would give the most. 
 
 Here, then, was the secret source of Milford's almost 
 morbid sense of isolation, as it was also the cause of 
 
92 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 his failure to make his way in his profession. The 
 little patrimony that had found its way to him after 
 the death of his parents, had barely sufficed, as we 
 have seen, to put him into his law-office with a fair 
 library and nothing to depend on but the chances of 
 the law as they fall to a dignified, reticent stranger in 
 a wide-awake Western town. It is probable that Mil- 
 ford was too much inclined to attribute his failure to 
 get business solely to the aversion which he fancied 
 these Northern people felt for him as one who had 
 been a Confederate soldier. The truth is, he had been 
 treated with great kindness by the few persons with 
 whom he had formed an acquaintance, and with indif- 
 ference, as a matter of course, by those who knew 
 little of him. 
 
 Since Lawson had come into the office, however, 
 Milford had seen a great change in things. He made 
 acquaintances every day, and among the acquaintances 
 many friends. Clients began to seek the services of 
 the firm, and there was no longer a doubt as to its 
 success in a financial way. All this would have been 
 quite enough to satisfy a man less scrupulous and sen- 
 sitive than Milford. Even he had his moments of 
 intense satisfaction, and often he became quite 
 absorbed in his professional work ; but he could not 
 altogether smother the feeling that his connection 
 with Lawson was a vulgar and debasing one. Again 
 and again the thought came to him of how the part. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 93 
 
 nership had been forced upon him by his condition, 
 and how he had been compelled to accede to all of 
 Lawson's terms through sheer coercion and under the 
 stress of humiliating poverty. It seemed to him at 
 times that Lawson had acted the part of a soulless 
 trickster in the whole matter. And yet he could not 
 make it quite plain, reason as he might, that the young 
 man could not defend himself in all his acts on honor- 
 able business grounds. 
 
 Lawson had been successful with his scheme for 
 city water-works, and while there were rumors of a 
 large number of bonds going into his hands as his part 
 of a questionable transaction, there was no proof of 
 the fact and the matter was hushed up. From this 
 time on McGinnis and Lawson were fast friends, the 
 banker appearing to have discovered rare business 
 qualities in the young man, and they began to operate 
 together in real estate schemes, Lawson doing the 
 active work. Nearly all the law-business proper that 
 came to the office Milford attended to, willing enough 
 that his partner should be on the street and away on 
 speculating jaunts with McGinnis. 
 
 As for Lawson, conscious of the power he was 
 rapidly acquiring, and enjoying to the full a sense of 
 his influence in Bankersville, he strained every faculty 
 to accelerate his popularity, and to impress the public 
 with the belief that he was growing rich. He was a 
 *' large, handsome fellow," according to the reporter of 
 
94 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 an Indianapolis paper, who interviewed him, and he 
 bore about him the air of perfect self-reliance which 
 succeeds with the populace. His companions were, for 
 the most part, bankers, large dealers in live stock, real- 
 estate men and curb-stone brokers. His every thought 
 was a financial one, and his every act was an effort to 
 reach money. 
 
 '* I despise little gains, I hate mere wages," he said 
 to Milford one day, just after they had divided a small 
 fee. " Life is like a dribbling, drought-dwarfed 
 stream, under such limitations. I shall never be con- 
 tent until money comes in gushing torrents, pouring 
 into my till from every direction." 
 
 " Enormous wages usually imply dirty work, I fear," 
 Milford rejoined. *' Grand fortunes are suggestive of 
 the fool's luck or of the knave's audacity." 
 
 Lawson laughed, fingering a heavy gold watch-seal 
 he was lately affecting and rolling a dark cigar from 
 one corner of his mouth to the other. 
 
 "■ The fools and the knaves, with their luck and their 
 audacity, appear to be making it lively for the world 
 just now," he presently said. ** Wheat is giving men 
 fortunes in Chicago — prices are climbing all the time." 
 He slapped his heavy thigh after the fashion of a 
 financier who feels his prosperity in the very flesh of his 
 limbs. ''I'm in on the tide," he went on to say, his 
 smooth face all aglow, " and every minute is coining 
 money for me. I put in $2,000 last week and have 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 95 
 
 been buying every day, going right along up with the 
 market, and if it don't break on me between now and 
 to-morrow, I shall close out twenty thousands ahead." 
 
 Milford looked at him with open doubt, but only 
 for a moment. He saw that the flush on the young 
 man's face was, indeed, the speculator's fever, the 
 unquenchable hell-flame of the gambler's life. 
 
 *' I hope you will lose ; it is your only chance for 
 future safety," he said, in a tone of voice expressive of 
 mingled pity and disgust. 
 
 '' I take my chance," Lawson remarked, with cool 
 indifference to his partner's scruples. " Nothing 
 venture, nothing gain." 
 
 Milford often found himself thinking of Lawson as 
 of a brilliant, self-conceited, spoiled boy, a big-hearted, 
 ill-directed youth, drifting toward moral ruin ; and yet 
 this boy was but one year his junior and was far his 
 superior in knowledge of the world. 
 
 Lawson closed out the wheat deal just in time ; the 
 market broke with a crash a few hours afterward, 
 carrying many men to ruin. The news of the young 
 man's luck soon got abroad and it was strange and 
 instructive to note how his sudden impulse toward 
 wealth lifted him in the regard of the people of Bank- 
 ersville. He did not try to conceal his own pleasure 
 in the fact of his prosperity; but he did not lose his 
 head. He turned on the market, selling now instead 
 of buying, and was successful again. 
 
g6 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 " I'm out now," he exclaimed, coming into the law- 
 office in high spirits, *' I've hit the bulls and the bears 
 in turn, and now I see that I'd better quit. Thirty- 
 seven thousand dollars will do for one month." 
 
 Despite his deep-seated prejudice against all sorts of 
 ganibling, Milford could not beat back a rising admira- 
 tion of Lawson's pluck and equilibrium. Success is a 
 mighty argument and the successful man has a pres- 
 tige that overrides a legion of objections to the 
 methods he has used. There is something fascina- 
 ting to the average imagination in the bold force and 
 daring of genius, even if it be an outlaw who is in 
 question. Superiority, championship, even in the 
 prize-ring, can not fail to elicit a certain sort of 
 admiration. 
 
 McGinnis had been the inspirer of Lawson in the 
 direction of his ventures in the Chicago market; but 
 his success had, in fact, no bottom save in sheer luck. 
 He had chanced to go in with the flood and out with 
 the ebb, reaping the fullest advantage of the move- 
 ments of the market. But he was cool enough and 
 shrewd enough to see that he had ridden good-fortune 
 far on toward the stumbling point, and so he dis- 
 mounted with his spoils and turned his eyes in other 
 directions. McGinnis saw this evidence of what he 
 called **level-headedness," and was more than ever 
 impressed with Lawson's ability and promise. 
 
 ** He'd make his mark on Wall Street right now," 
 
A BANKER OF BANK ERSVILLE. 97 
 
 he said to his friends ; '* that young man is a prodigy, 
 I tell you." 
 
 As a matter of course, the whole of Lawson's atten- 
 tion became absorbed in schemes disconnected from 
 the practice of the law, and he often said to Milford 
 that he might consider their partnership at an end 
 whenever he should see proper. 
 
 " Of course, I know my name is worth a good deal 
 to the office, but you needn't consider that," he said, 
 " act for your own best interest, Milford, and do not 
 take me into account. I'm all right and I want you to 
 do the very best you can." 
 
 His manners were not patronizing, nor did he affect 
 superiority. He was cordial, earnest and outright; 
 but Milford resented a certain matter-of-course indif- 
 ference to the outcome, which he fancied was observa- 
 ble in Lawson's face. Still he shrank from asserting 
 this resentment by a rupture of the partnership, though 
 he would not have acknowledged that he was consider- 
 ing, even remotely, the benefit he was gaining from 
 the mere fact of Lawson's popularity. Such a benefit 
 is hard to realize in a clear way and hard to cast aside 
 out of mere self-respect, say what we may. 
 
 Lately Milford had been going pretty often to Dr. 
 Wilton's, where he always found himself comforted by 
 the quiet atmosphere of that indescribable earthly para- 
 dise, a happy home. Mrs. Wilton, a gentle, low-voiced 
 little woman with smooth white hair and a pale con- 
 
98 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 tented face, treated him, and every other guest, for that 
 matter, with a beautiful motherly kindness, and the 
 doctor, whenever free from college duties, was a 
 charming host. 
 
 It was restful, after the annoyance and bother of a 
 day's legal details, to find himself in the little library 
 with Miss Wilton, even if she did occasionally talk 
 shop and air a few of her newly-acquired law theories. 
 Her voice was soothing and her enthusiasm, always 
 kept well in hand, was infectious. She had nothing in 
 her air or ways that indicated the typical strong- 
 minded woman, but there was a suggestion of power 
 in her attitudes as well as in her bright, clear, finely- 
 chiseled face. 
 
 One evening, late in autumn, Milford called and 
 found Lawson already there. This was not the first 
 time that the gentlemen had met in this library, at 
 about this hour in the evening, but somehow it was, to 
 Milford at least, a very unwelcome occurrence. Miss 
 Wilton had met him at the door with the usual gentle 
 and charming welcome in her voice and eyes ; but he 
 had quickly observed that Lawson was sitting in 
 the bay-window overlooking the Wabash, Milford's 
 favorite place, and close by him stood the low 
 chair just left by the young woman. It was a small 
 matter, but it filled Milford's soul with a sudden 
 pain. 
 
 "Good-evening," exclaimed Lawson, "our firm is 
 
A BANKER OF BAXKERSVILLE. 99 
 
 ably represented upon the present occasion. I claim 
 the close in the argument, however." 
 
 *' You are inclined to put in that claim upon any and 
 every occasion," Milford responded. " I'll take the 
 matter under advisement." 
 
 " We have been enjoying the fine November moon- 
 light on the river," said Miss Wilton, '' it is magnifi- 
 cent to-night." 
 
 Milford imagined a hint of apology or disclaimer in 
 her voice, though she returned to the seat near Law- 
 son. There was a bright wood fire on the library 
 hearth, but the gas had not been lighted. 
 
 Lavvson was dressed with scrupulous care and was 
 looking his best ; a fine light in his eyes and something 
 in his air that suggested supreme satisfaction, gave 
 Milford a dull shock. With an effort at lightness, he 
 said as he glanced out through the window : 
 
 ** Yes, a very tender view, but have I blundered — 
 have I destroyed a fine passage by my unopportune 
 appearance? I offer a thousand apologies." 
 
 " I was just going to sing for Mr. Lawson," she 
 quickly responded. " May I trouble you also with the 
 infliction ? " 
 
 *' Nothing could please me more ; I have never 
 heard you sing." He followed her to the little upright 
 piano and stood close beside her, feeling, at the same 
 time, a fear that he was much further from her than 
 was Lawson, over there in the window. 
 
lOO A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Her voice was a good, clear, honest soprano, not over 
 strong, but rich and flexible, with a world of tender- 
 ness in it, just suited to the simple song she had 
 chosen. There was a refrain of a couplet with some 
 covert sentiment in it. The eyes of the two men met 
 once during the singing and there passed between them 
 a silent, quick exchange of a common thought, each 
 divining the other's feeling, each suspecting that the 
 other was on the vantage ground. 
 
 When she had finished singing, Miss Wilton turned 
 half about on the piano-stool and looked up at Mil- 
 ford, whose rather somber face showed strangely under 
 the flicker of the fire-light. 
 
 ** I always feel as if I were compromising myself a 
 little when I sing in the presence of — of men," she said 
 with a bright smile ; '* they always appear to take it for 
 granted that I consider singing and playing on the 
 piano a very great thing — a good part of life." 
 
 " I'm sure we haven't hinted such a thing," said Law- 
 son quickly ; " we have been too thoroughly charmed 
 to even thank you in words." He got up and came to 
 stand on the other side of her. " There is a time to 
 sing, you know." 
 
 " I don't believe earnest, thoughtful people sing- 
 often," she replied ; '' there's nothing useful or practical 
 in it." 
 
 " It is a higher kind of oratory," exclaimed Milford, 
 recalling what she had said to him once, ** and it has a 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. lo; 
 
 great power to sway the hearts of those who listen 
 You had me under a spell just now." 
 
 •' Taking your polite statement in cold earnest, sup 
 pose I did touch your feeling for the moment, what o: 
 it? It's a poor little thing to do." 
 
 " How frank ! How deliciously sincere ! To touch 
 my feelings is a poor deed, I admit, and not worth 
 doing, but " 
 
 "You are unfair," she stopped him to say, "you 
 know what I mean, Mr. Milford." 
 
 " I catch your thoughts readily," Lawson hurried tc; 
 remark; **you mean that thing is so easily donr 
 that it requires no great effort to accomplish it." 
 
 *' How stupid ! " she exclaimed. "■ I meant nothing 
 like that. There surely must be some greater achieve- 
 ment possible to a woman than merely showing off a 
 light accomplishment now and then. You both under- 
 stand what I meant. You know very well that men 
 consider women as mere " 
 
 '' Oh, come now," expostulated Lawson, '' be good 
 enough to sing another song, the effect of the other 
 has about passed off. I begin to feel dull again." 
 
 '' No," she said, rising and going into the window, 
 '' I'm out of the singing mood. The idea of my voice 
 serving instead of a cigar or a glass of wine, to sharpen 
 the wit of any one ! Talk about the noble art of 
 singing! I am ashamed of having acceded to youi 
 wishes even once in that regard." 
 
I02 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Milford did not like all this. He felt that Miss 
 Wilton might appear to so much better advantage if 
 she could forget, upon occasion, at least, this hobby 
 she so willfully and persistently was riding. Under her 
 airy acting he saw a current of seriousness that affected 
 him as if he had looked into her heart and discovered 
 a lesion. He was conscious of a fear that she would 
 succeed in destroying the sweetness of her nature. As 
 for Lawson, her artificial resentment of his poor 
 attempts at humor came to him as very naturally 
 assumed under the circumstances, and he treated it as 
 lightly as its spirit demanded. He looked at her as 
 she stood framed in by the window against the back- 
 ground of moon-lit landscape, and he thought her very 
 lovely, very loveable. Milford unconsciously recog- 
 nized as much and more, for he was aware that her song 
 was still echoing in his heart. 
 
 It would be an interesting calculus by which ona 
 could so differentiate the feelings of a man as to dis- 
 cover just when and how love gets into his heart. 
 Woman is the variable, human nature the constant 
 quantity, love the controlling increment in the general 
 proposition ; but when we substitute the heart of a 
 man for human nature and thus make the problem a 
 special instance, the limit becomes infinitely doubtful, 
 oscillating between the most distant extremes. Take 
 two men, one like Lawson, the other like Milford, and 
 what a difference there is between the effect of this 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 103 
 
 tender increment as regards the new attitude 
 induced ! 
 
 With one, love was objective, with the other it was 
 subjective. Milford looked within and saw a new 
 light, he felt a new life, indeed. Lawson looked with- 
 out and began to consider the effect upon his future. 
 Each felt a change come into his life. 
 
 Lawson went close to her and looking down into her 
 face with an intense, smiling earnestness, said : 
 
 ** It becomes you to appear greatly wrought up, it 
 makes you beautiful." 
 
 *' I am not wrought up, and I don't like flattery, Mr. 
 Lawson," she very gravely and gently responded. 
 "Why do men insist upon making pretty speeches in 
 lieu of arguments when they talk with women ? You 
 ought to feel ashamed." 
 
 " I am ashamed," said Lawson. " Ashamed, humil- 
 iated, abased. Let's wipe it all out, and begin over 
 again." 
 
 " Did you ever know a man who wished he were a 
 woman? " she asked. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, every sensible viroman wishes she were a 
 man." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " Oh, to be free and fight the world." 
 
 " But we won't allow it," said Lawson, laughing. 
 
 " Because you are bad. All men are bad." 
 
I04 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 ** All men?" inquired Milford. 
 
 "Yes, all, every one of you." 
 
 *' I see a fine syllogism in that," said Lawson, " it 
 runs as follows : All men are bad ; all women desire 
 to be men ; ergo : all women desire to be bad ! " 
 
 " No, that is prettily turned, but we have a 
 decidedly missionary point in view. The syllogism is : 
 every one should wish to do the largest good ; women 
 wish to do the largest good ; ergo : they wish to be 
 free." 
 
 "■ I surrender, you are free," said Lawson, with a 
 tragic gesture. " Go and redeem the world." 
 
 As they walked down town together, the young men 
 were silent for a space, as if each, in the enjoyment of 
 some mood, feared the other would speak. Such a 
 silence is somehow different from an ordinary rest from 
 conversation. Presently Lawson took Milford's arm 
 in a familiar way and, as if the thought had suddenly 
 arisen, said : 
 
 " Miss Wilton is a strange girl. I hardly know how 
 to take her, do you ? " 
 
 '' She doesn't especially puzzle me/* Milford 
 answered, with his placid reserve bordering on some- 
 thing less polite. Lawson's tone and touch irritated 
 him. " I like her very much," he added. 
 
 *' Oh, yes, I do too, but she's silly to be thinking of 
 practicing law," said Lawson. 
 
 " Silly is a brutal word in such a connection ; a word 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 105 
 
 not usually applied to a lady by a gentleman," retorted 
 Milford. 
 
 ''Oh, bosh! " exclaimed Lawson, with a short laugh. 
 '' I have nothing in common with your finical sticklers 
 for sugar-coated circumlocution ; a spade is a spade." 
 
 " And a gentleman is always a gentleman," said 
 Milford. " There is no room for mistake." 
 
 " See here, Milford," exclaimed Lawson, stopping 
 short and squaring himself in a very erect attitude, 
 ''what are you driving at? If you mean to insult me, 
 say so and I'll thump this sidewalk with you ; I can 
 and will thrash you in a minute ! " 
 
 Milford recoiled, not in fear, but instinctively from 
 the brutal, vulgar spirit that had sprung up, as if from 
 concealment in Lawson's nature, and was now leering 
 from his eyes and making his smooth cheeks purple. 
 A young, ruffianly prize-fighter could not have looked 
 more animal-like and repulsive. 
 
 " Many men are stronger than I, but I am not easily 
 scared. Reserve your force for a higher use," said 
 Milford after a moment. " Men are not beasts." 
 Lawson glared and slowly his attitude relaxed. His 
 face grew almost pale as the passionate blood ebbed 
 from it, then he turned and rapidly walked away, fling- 
 ing back, as if over his shoulder, the words . 
 
 "If not beasts, we both are fools ! " 
 
VII. 
 
 MILFORD, on coming North, had tried to cast 
 from him, as far as possible, all the peculiarities 
 of Southern character and he had especially labored to 
 get rid of those which he deemed hindrances to his 
 perfect sympathy with the new life he would have to 
 live. He quickly saw many qualities in the Western 
 character that appeared to him well worth acquiring. 
 Here were force, pluck, cheerfulness, heartiness and per- 
 sonal bravery without any knowledge of the old code 
 (Thonneur. At first he could not understand how gentle- 
 men could quarrel, and even come to blows, without 
 any blood shed or other serious result ; but gradually he 
 recognized the higher civilization which allows men to 
 disagree and yet live on speaking terms, to give and 
 take even insults and yet not kill or be killed. He saw 
 that the road to perfect honor did not, in fact, lie over 
 the grave of one's personal enemy. 
 
 When he came to reflect over his words with Lawson, 
 he saw that he had done wrong. He had purposely 
 insulted the young man, and he felt the shame of the 
 act. It is true that Lawson's vulgar braggadocio man- 
 ner had revealed the fact that he was not a gentleman 
 in the best sense of the word, but it had its root in 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 107 
 
 early associations and training, no doubt, against which 
 he had fortified himself in vain by education and for- 
 eign travel. It was Milford's theory that breeding 
 will come out, and that the crude stone polished is 
 crude still. He applied this theory to himself, as well as 
 to Lawson, arguing that his own language and actions 
 during the altercation had shown a weak impulse to- 
 ward the old Southern plan of insulting one's enemy in 
 order to have an excuse for killing him, a vulgar and 
 brutal plan indeed. 
 
 Nevertheless, after all, he was wholly unprepared for 
 the emergency, when Lawson entered the office next 
 morning with beaming face and carelessly friendly man- 
 ner and exclaimed : 
 
 ** Hello, you're down early ! What a fine morning ! 
 I'm going to Chicago and I came in to tell you that 
 Wilkins, the father of the murdered boy, you know, 
 will be in to employ you to assist the prosecuting at- 
 torney. Of course that means that you are to take 
 charge of the case. Wilkins is rich, and it is a sort of 
 case in which you can charge a big fee. A word to the 
 wise, you know." 
 
 There was no resisting Lawson's infectious cheerful- 
 ness and good-fellowship of manner and voice. Evi- 
 dently he had forgotten all about the trouble of the 
 night before. 
 
 "■ It will be a very disagreeable task, prosecuting 
 that young fellow," said Milford, a little self con- 
 
lo8 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 sciously, then in a heartier voice : " but it was a foul 
 deed ; he deserves the last degree of punishment." 
 
 " Certainly he does," said Lawson, " and the dead 
 boy's father, Mr. Wilkins, is determined that he shall 
 have it. He'll not care for the expense of the thing. 
 I had a talk with him yesterday. I told him to see you 
 to-day ; he'll be in after awhile — lives in the country 
 ten miles, you know." Lawson looked at his watch. 
 " It's nearly train time," he added, rising from the 
 chair he had taken. *' I must be off. Don't be mealy, 
 mouthed about the fee. It ought to be at least two 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 Milford rose. 
 
 " There is no doubt of the young man's guilt, I 
 believe?" he asked, as if in the way of trying to throw 
 off some burden. 
 
 "Not the least; he does not deny the deed; his 
 defense will be emotional insanity, the old, threadbare 
 dodge." 
 
 When Lawson had gone away, Milford sat down to 
 think. Here at last was a probability of having a 
 chance to distinguish himself in his profession. He 
 would have the popular side of a celebrated case, for 
 the murder had excited all the country, and the news- 
 papers had discussed it with unusual zeal. Cowardice 
 and atrocious brutality had marked the murder as one 
 of the darkest sort. Another fact added interest 
 to the affair; the slayer and the slain both had 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 109 
 
 belonged to the best class of country people, so far as 
 wealth and respectable family connections went, and 
 the murder had grown out of a love-passage, the dead 
 boy having been the successful suitor of a beautiful 
 young girl, the daughter of a country parson. It does 
 not require much analysis of such a case to disclose 
 the elements out of which a clever lawyer, gifted with 
 imagination and oratory, could build a resistless appeal 
 to a jury. Milford had read all the details of the news- 
 paper reports touching the crime and was prepared to 
 enter at once upon a consideration of the case from 
 the prosecutor's point of view. He had digested its 
 points pretty thoroughly by the time Mr. Wilkins, a 
 large, brawny, hard-faced man appeared. 
 
 The consultation that followed disclosed to the law- 
 yer how strangely the murder had affected the strong- 
 minded but illiterate farmer, wdiose wdiole soul had 
 seemingly concentrated itself in the desire for revenge. 
 
 ** I want him hung es high es a kite, an' I want to 
 see it with my owm eyes so's to be shore it's done an' 
 done 'cordin' to law," he savagely said, his square jaws 
 setting themselves together afterward with grim firm- 
 ness. " I don't calc'late for my boy to be murdered 
 an' then let the feller 'at done it go free," he w^ent on ; 
 *'not by a long shot. If money an' brains can do it, 
 I'm goin* to see 'im hung." 
 
 " I shall be glad to do all in my power to bring him 
 to a just punishment," said Milford. 
 
no A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 *' That's the talk, lawyer ; jest punishment, jest pun. 
 ishment, that's what I want er see. My pore boy," 
 the man's iron face quivered, " my pore boy, he's dead 
 an' I want er see him 'at done it dead, too ; that's what 
 I call jest punishment." 
 
 " To be hanged is the fate that the law has reserved 
 for the murderer," said Milford, gravely, " and the pun- 
 ishment is, perhaps, not too severe." 
 
 " Too severe ! Lawyer, I've got nine hundred and 
 eighty acres of the best land in Lincoln Township, an* 
 I'll spend it all or have that villain hung ; do you hear 
 me?" 
 
 " It needn't cost you that much. If the fellow is 
 guilty " 
 
 "Guilty! What you talkin' about? / sajy hes 
 guilty^ an' I say I want 'im to be hung 'cordin' to law, an' 
 I'm here to hire you to see to it ; for I wouldn't trust 
 that prosecutin' attorney to do nothin' for me. He's a 
 republican an' I don't go much on them sort. I'm a 
 democrat an' I want that kind of a lawyer. They told 
 me you was one." 
 
 Milford struggled hard to keep from laughing, for 
 he felt that any levity would be an insult to the ex- 
 cited client. 
 
 " I'm the president of the Farmers Detective Com- 
 pany^ an' they're all a-backin' me, an' they say 'at 
 you're the best pleader at this here bar, an' can come 
 mighty nigh jest a-pleadin' a feller in or a-pleadin' him 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. HI 
 
 out any way you want to. Now that's the kind I want ; 
 I want him pleaded into a slip-noose and hung*cordin* 
 to law. Hung high and choked dead." 
 
 " The evidence of his guilt is very strong, and a 
 good jury will be inclined to punish him for so atro- 
 cious a crime without much mercy," said Milford. 
 
 ** We won't have no other sort of a jury, I tell you, 
 we won't have it," Wilkins exclaimed, bringing his 
 heavy fist down on the desk with a loud thump and 
 glaring ferociously. " I'm a-goin' to see to that. I've 
 got my head sot onto havin' a fair trial, a fair conviction 
 an' a mighty dead hangin* to the end of it all, an' don't 
 you forgit it, nuther! There's goin' to be no foolin*." 
 For some reason Milford could find no ready response 
 to such a declaration. He sat and looked steadily into 
 the great shaggy face with its hard lines and little 
 steel-gray eyes. Presently the farmer said : ** Well, 
 s'pose we talk business. I'm here to hire you ; what 
 you goin' to charge me ? Don't be too steep." 
 
 **Two thousand dollars," answered the lawyer, 
 almost hoping that the amount of the fee would end 
 negotiations at once, for, in spite of himself, he was 
 recoiling from the awful responsibility. 
 
 ** Well, your money'll be ready for you ; go at it, 
 stick to it, never leave it or forsake it till he's hung. 
 I mean business an' don't you forgit it ! An', lawyer, 
 ef he's hung I'll put five hundred more to your fee; 
 d'ye hear?" 
 
112 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 The man took a big, sleek wallet from his pocket 
 and counted a roll of bills. " There's two hundred to 
 bind the bargain," he said, handing the money to Mil- 
 ford. *' I don't want no half-way pleadin' in this here 
 case ; I jest want it naturally druv ahead, like maulin' 
 rails, till the hangin's done. Give it to him raw! " 
 
 There was something pathetically awful, if the 
 phrase is permissible, in the stern, grim hunger for re- 
 venge which the old man exhibited in his every word, 
 look and act. To see the murderer of his son hanged 
 seemed to be, for the time, the only wish he was capa- 
 ble of entertaining. 
 
 Milford was glad when his client had gone ; the air 
 of the room appeared clearer and seemed lighter to 
 breathe. 
 
 McGinnis, the banker, dropped in soon after, rub- 
 bing his nervous hands and smiling. 
 
 " Did you get him on your hook ? " he asked. " I 
 suppose you did, though, of course." 
 
 " Of whom do you speak ? " demanded Milford, 
 though he felt pretty sure it was Wilkins that was 
 meant. 
 
 '* Oh, the old moss-back, what*s-his-name-Wilkins ! 
 I sent him up here. Stingy old curmudgeon, hope you 
 downed him for a good big fee. He's rich and now is 
 the time to squeeze him." 
 
 ** He employed us to prosecute," said Milford. 
 - '* Glad of it 1 I told him to get you and Lawson, more 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 113 
 
 especially you, for Lawson's no lawyer, he's a financier, 
 a regular Jim Fiske. I told Wilkins that you would 
 raise the very roof off the court-house if he employed 
 you." Here he paused to strike a match, holding a 
 half-burned cigar between his lips. " Of course he'd 
 believe anything I told him." 
 
 "Thank you, you have been very kind," Milford 
 hastened to say. 
 
 " Oh, I knew you or anybody *d do, in a case like 
 that, just as well as Dan Voorhees or Ben Harrison," 
 replied the banker. ** It doesn't require a Webster to 
 convict a murderer who don't deny the deed. I knew 
 you needed the fee and could handle that sort of a 
 case well enough." 
 
 Milford looked into McGinnis's face to see if the 
 man were really sincere in giving him such a back- 
 handed compliment as the words had implied. Evi- 
 dently enough the banker considered himself playing 
 the part of a genuine friend to a deserving young man 
 of small ability. He had rather kindly eyes, and no 
 doubt viewed the matter in hand from the point of 
 view of mere dollars and cents. 
 
 " I told you I'd be a friend to this firm, the first 
 time I was up here. Business is pretty good, isn't 
 it ? " he added, in a light, ofT-hand tone. 
 
 " We are getting on very well, thank you," said Mil- 
 ford, *' and I am grateful for your friendship." 
 
 *' By the way, where's Lawson ? " McGinnis in- 
 
114 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 quired, as if the thought of asking the question had 
 been accidental. 
 
 " He went to Chicago this morning.** 
 
 " Humph ! Did he say what for ? " 
 
 '' No." 
 
 The banker beat a low tattoo on the desk with his 
 fingers and hummed a tune. Then : 
 
 " When will he be back ? " he inquired. 
 
 " He didn't say, I think." 
 
 " Did he get a telegram ? " 
 
 " I don't know. He didn't mention it if he did." 
 
 ** Humph ! Well, it's of no importance ; I can see 
 him when he returns.** 
 
 McGinnis smoked awhile in silence, apparently 
 absorbed in thought. Presently he rose and as he 
 walked to the door, said : 
 
 "Well, good luck to you in your murder case. 
 You*ve caught your hare, that's the first command of 
 the recipe, skin him is the next." 
 
 He went out humming the tune he had dropped a 
 few minutes before. 
 
 Lawson returned late in the evening of the next 
 day and found Milford busy with his law books, brief- 
 ing the great case. A tumbled heap of supreme court 
 reports lay on the desk, whilst almost every chair and 
 table in the room had a similar incumbrance. 
 
 *' By Jove ! this looks like a law-office ! What's 
 stirred you up to this pitch of frenzy, I wonder ! " he 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. II5 
 
 exclaimed, lifting his hands and arching his brows, 
 " It surely must mean Wilkins ! " 
 
 Milford did not have time to answer this rather 
 boisterous greeting before McGinnis came in and hus- 
 tled Lawson into the consultation-room. 
 
 " I've been dead to see you," said the banker, as 
 soon as the door was shut. " I've made a discovery." 
 
 *' Well, out with it," said Lawson. 
 
 " Well, Arnold G. Lewis has got control of the X. 
 L. & V. bonds and has determined to build the road 
 through Bankersville, instead of through Saxtonburg." 
 
 "Well.^" 
 
 ** I hit on a scheme yesterday and came at once to 
 see you, but you were gone. It is this : the old grade 
 of the defunct L. J. & P. can be had of Larkin, of 
 Chicago, who holds the old bonds, for a trifling sum, if 
 we can buy them before he discovers Arnold G. Lewis's 
 plan." 
 
 " What do you call a trifling sum in that connec- 
 tion ? " Lawson inquired. 
 
 " Oh, for that matter, most any small amount ; but 
 we could make big money by giving him twenty-five 
 thousand." 
 
 " Do you think so?" 
 
 " I know so. Lewis has gone so far that he can't 
 back out, and he evidently thinks the old grade is 
 abandoned and lying there ready-made to his hand. 
 He'd have to pay any price we might ask." 
 
n& A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 " That being the case, congratulate me," said Law 
 son. " I bought the bonds, stock and all the franchises 
 of the defunct L. J. & P. from Larkin this morning 
 for three thousand dollars ! '* 
 
 " You did ! •' 
 
 " I most assuredly did, and have the papers in my 
 traveling bag at this moment." 
 
 McGinnis could not quite hide his mingled surprise 
 and chagrin behind the indifferent smile he conjured 
 up into his face. 
 
 " Well, youVe got a good thing — a small bonanza, 
 if you pull the strings right," he said. " I didn't know 
 you were working at it, however. In fact I thought I 
 was the only person in Bankersville who knew the con- 
 dition in which things stood with reference to the old 
 grade." 
 
 Lawson chuckled heartily, and there was a gleam in 
 his eyes that disturbed the banker, it was so mirthfully 
 soulless and selfish. 
 
 " I'm not asleep every time my eyes are shut," the 
 young man said. "I've been waiting for Arnold G. 
 Lewis to walk into the net. He's in now and he'll 
 have to buy that grade." 
 
 The " old grade," as it was termed, was a roadway 
 long since abandoned, but once made ready for the 
 cross-ties and iron of a projected railroad. It was fin- 
 ished, so far as the earthwork was concerned, to a dis- 
 tance of fifty miles westward from Bankersville. It 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. II7 
 
 lay exactly in the direction of Lewis's proposed line, 
 and to use it would save him some two hundred thou- 
 sand dollars on the cost of building his road. Lawson, 
 with that sensitiveness to financial suggestions which 
 always distinguishes the American speculator, saw the 
 main chance from the moment that Arnold G. Lewis's 
 plans began to reach the public attention. It was 
 Miss Crabb who first set him to considering the 
 scheme for getting possession of the franchises and 
 the finished work of the old company. In her unflag- 
 ging pursuit of the news for her paper she had in- 
 quired of Lawson about the probable ability of Arnold 
 G. Lewis to build his road by way of Bankersville 
 instead of by way of Saxtonburg. 
 
 *' I should think this is quite as good a town as 
 Saxtonburg, to say the least," Lawson had answered ; 
 ''but the country is not so level, it would cost more to 
 come this way." 
 
 *' Oh, but you forget, there's the old grade reaching 
 from here clear to the Illinois line, and almost ready 
 for the ties and iron," she rejoined. " That can be 
 utilized, you know." 
 
 "That's true, certainly, but ; " he hesitated, his mind 
 working with more than lightning celerity, " that really 
 might have a tendency to counteract the heavy work 
 east of here, though I should think it would require a 
 great deal of work to make the old grade ready." 
 
 He looked at her so fixedly that her eyes fell and 
 
Il8 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 she actually blushed a little ; but in fact he did not see 
 her. He was looking far past her to a possible finan- 
 cial horizon. He left her abruptly and went directly 
 to the records of the county to study the status of the 
 defunct railroad company, with a view to ascertaining 
 where the principal owners of the stock and bonds 
 lived. It did not take him long to find out that one, 
 Larkin, of Chicago, held a mortgage and judgment 
 which controlled every thing. With this knowledge 
 safely housed in his mind, he kept still and bided his 
 time until Arnold G. Lewis, the great railroad man, 
 had gone so far with building the X. L. & V. in the 
 direction of Bankersville that he could not change the 
 route ; then he went to Chicago and bought Larkin's 
 mortgage and judgment, together with his stock, bonds 
 and all other evidences of ownership or incumbrance. 
 
 McGinnis felt that, in some indirect and uncer. 
 tain way, this brilliant coup d' argent, as Miss Crabb 
 was fond of calling such things, had been at his ex- 
 pense and that Lawson had maliciously enjoyed his 
 discomfiture. It must not be taken for granted that 
 all men are selfish enough to entertain McGinnis's 
 view of the matter, but somehow these big lumps of 
 good luck are always just about to fall into so many 
 hands, at the time the successful fellows carry them 
 off, that the unsuccessful ones can not avoid feeling 
 a sense of deep injury. The banker was too much 
 a man of the world to exhibit his chagrin, however. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 1 19 
 
 He praised Lawson's shrewdness and foresight and 
 congratulated him volubly. 
 
 Between Lawson and Mr. Arnold G. Lewis the ne- 
 gotiations were short and simple. Lewis could afford 
 to pay a hundred thousand dollars for the " old grade " 
 and the franchises pertaining thereto, and he did, 
 thus permitting Lawson to realize a net profit of 
 about ninety-seven thousand dollars. 
 
 Of course the rapidly accumulating fortune of 
 Lawson, attended as its growth was by a series of 
 such exceptionally lucky strokes of chance, gave the 
 young man a most picturesque attitude in the eyes 
 of the public. The newspapers exaggerated his achieve- 
 ments and some editor gave him the name of Lucky 
 Lawson, which was taken up and bandied about by 
 the press in all sorts of flattering paragraphs. No 
 doubt this notoriety stimulated his ambition and gave 
 him that sort of audacious pluck which at times 
 appears to carry a man of his peculiar gifts and 
 temperament forward with a rapid acceleration of 
 force. At all events, he now entered upon a career 
 of successful speculation which, if it was deprecated 
 by many of the best people in Bankersville, gave 
 him an influence that few men acquire so young. 
 Nor did he appear selfish, for he donated ten thou- 
 sand dollars to help build the new Presbyterian 
 church, and ten thousand to the college to be used 
 to defray the expenses of poor young men studying 
 
I20 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 for the ministry. Later on, but this is going far 
 ahead of our story, he gave to the city of Bankers- 
 ville a finely-wooded tract of land for a public park. 
 Such acts are not lost upon a community. A pub- 
 lic-spirited man rarely fails to endear himself to 
 the people who feel his liberality, and especially if 
 his gifts are supplemented by a genial personal 
 bearing. 
 
 Bankersville felt the impetus given to its trade by 
 the emulation Lawson's example generated. It may 
 have been that the time was ripe for the coming of 
 such a spirit and thus every thing stood ready to 
 help it along. Certainly the tide flowed with Lawson, 
 and it appeared to bear the whole of Bankersville 
 forward with it, until at length the Bucket-shop 
 came. 
 
VIII. 
 
 MILFORD pursued his study of the evidence 
 and authorities bearing upon the murder case, 
 with alternate periods of enthusiasm and of depression. 
 He felt that much was expected of him, for, owing to 
 the generous paragraphs of Miss Crabb, and to Law- 
 son's quite as generous talk on the street, it had gone 
 forth that he was preparing to make a brilliant and 
 thorough prosecution of the young murderer; and yet 
 he was indirectly conscious, so to speak, of an under- 
 current of adverse feeling setting against him. The 
 jealousy of a few lawyers who imagined that he had 
 thrown himself in the way of their careers, showed 
 itself in various annoying ways, chiefly by means of 
 anonymous communications to an unscrupulous jour- 
 nal reflecting on his past life, having especial reference 
 to his connection with the confederate army. The 
 following paragraph, copied from the Bankersville 
 Snarler^ is a fair instance : 
 
 " It would seem very fitting that the foulest mur- 
 derer who ever disgraced our jail should be defended 
 by the only lawyer at our bar who ever lifted his hand 
 against the flag of our country." 
 
 Once in a while these nagging paragraphs took the 
 so-called humorous form. Here are some samples : 
 
122 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 "We presume that Colonel Milford (all Southerners 
 are colonels, we believe) will close his oration in the 
 Wilkins murder case with the genuine old-fashioned 
 rebel yell." 
 
 "Our solitary relic of * chivalry and honahsah ' will 
 wave the ensanguined garment over the jury next 
 week. The prisoner is forewarned that he is fore- 
 doomed." 
 
 Some watchful and patient enemy invariably mailed 
 him a carefully-marked copy of each paper containing 
 any thing of this character, and although he never 
 gave any public notice to the vulgar and malicious 
 things, he could not get rid of a keen sensitiveness to 
 their poison. 
 
 Milford had written within the past year several 
 pieces of verse for the magazines, but under cover of 
 a nom de plume. His lynx-eyed torturers discovered 
 this, as a much-copied paragraph showed : 
 
 " We suggest," it ran, " that Colonel Milford, 
 ex-rebel, if he wants to make sure of the prison- 
 er's utter collapse, quote some of his love-poetry 
 to the court and jury in the coming murder trial. 
 The colonel's poetry is warranted to be sugar-coated 
 death to all sensible people. Next week we shall give 
 our readers one or two of his spooniest and mooniest 
 effusions." 
 
 The reader will understand that this sort of doings 
 was not indulged in by the representative journals of 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 1 23 
 
 Bankersville, whose editors were gentlemen ; still it had 
 its sting all the more worrying because coming from a 
 source utterly irresponsible and therefore unassailable. 
 
 During this season of mingled hope and doubt, 
 when ambition to succeed and disgust with his pro- 
 fession were alternately uppermost in his heart, 
 Milford found Miss Wilton always ready to encourage 
 him and incite him to what she termed the heroic 
 treatment of the case. She often startled him with the 
 force and originality of her suggestions in this regard, 
 but oftener with the calm severity of her words. 
 
 " He has robbed a mother of her son, and a young, 
 sweet girl of her lover," she said, " and I think he 
 deserves no mercy. I should not hesitate to urge his 
 conviction on the highest possible grounds." 
 
 She frequently referred with something akin to bit- 
 terness, to the outrageous assumption implied by the 
 murder, as she viewed it, the assumption on the mur- 
 derer's part that the girl was not to be considered at 
 all in the case where two men fall in love with her. 
 " She's mine," says he, although she has refused him 
 and chosen the other, and he kills the lover for having 
 dared to take his own. 
 
 " I see in such an instance," she remarked, ''one of 
 the dregs of barbarity, a fragment left over from the 
 days when women were the property, the slaves of men. 
 It speaks of but a feeble progress, a slight advance 
 from medieval times. Here are two men : they find a 
 
124 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 pretty girl, one succeeds in getting her, then they 
 scramble over possession of her, just as two robbers 
 would wrangle over an ill-gotten treasure. What right 
 has a man to assume that he has any ownership in a 
 woman ? what right has he to presume to fight about 
 her ? She has the sole proprietary right to herself, and 
 no man has any concern in the matter until she gives it 
 to him. I despise the way Blackstone discusses the 
 rights of women, that is, in the main. He scarcely 
 winces, for instance, when he announces that possibly 
 the law would uphold a man in moderate chastisement 
 of his wife at need. The whole groundwork of the law 
 as regards women is rotten. It is this rottenness of 
 the substance of law that has educated men up to the 
 point of killing each other on a woman's account." 
 
 Milford, looking at the question from a man's as 
 well as from a lawyer's point of view, was unable to 
 observe any strict relevancy in such an argument, but 
 he did catch from it the effect of a fine womanly feel- 
 ing, which often serves admirably in the place of logic. 
 Moreover, she made him aware, in a larger degree at 
 each interview, how charmingly sincere she was and 
 with what unlimited honesty she was going forward 
 with her purpose in life. It was not unnatural, per- 
 haps, that Milford should be reminded forcibly, in this 
 connection, of the narrow escape that he and Lawson 
 had had from an encounter which might have ended as 
 disastrously as the one that had given birth to the 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 125 
 
 Wilkins murder. What would Marian Wilton thinl< 
 or do if that strange quarrel should come to her knowl- 
 edge ? It startled him to recognize what a weighty 
 question this was to him. Then he asked himself what 
 would be the end of this interest in her which had 
 already grown to be the largest value of his life. 
 
 " If you make a fine, strong, eloquent speech," she 
 said to him one day, " and gain your great cause, you 
 will have won your fame. Then fortune will follow ; 
 I fairly envy you your golden opportunity. You will 
 be master of it, I know." 
 
 They were in the bay-window, as usual, looking out 
 over the Wabash valley, now heavily covered with 
 snow. She was in fine spirits, her face showing the 
 rich glow of health and enthusiasm. On this subject 
 she was always enthusiastic. 
 
 " I don*t know, I can't forecast what I shall be able 
 to do," he responded, " I feel so differently about it at 
 different times. Really, I think I am out of my place 
 as a lawyer ; there is something in the profession that 
 galls me strangely." 
 
 " Don't say that," she exclaimed ; her voice was 
 pitched almost to a command ; '' you are unjust to your- 
 self and to your noble calling. I want you to gather 
 up your every force and show what you can do in this 
 case; your friends expect it of you. A great deal is 
 being said." 
 
 "Yes, I know a great deal is being said," he replied, 
 
126 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 ** and it sometimes seems to me that it is very strange 
 that people will not allow me the privilege of attend- 
 ing to my own affairs in my own way without their 
 suggestions." Then, feeling that she might construe 
 his words into an ungenerous rebuke of her own inter- 
 est, he quickly added : " You can not know how I prize 
 your kind words, however, and how much I wish to 
 deserve your respect and your encouragement." 
 
 "■ But what people say and think must be a great 
 deal to you," she said, with a directness of manner that 
 seemed to ignore his last phrases ; " a lawyer lives by 
 what the people think and say of him. Now is your 
 grand chance to make them think and say things of 
 incalculable value, and you must be equal to the occa- 
 sion." 
 
 He looked at her fine, energetic face and wondered 
 if she did not understand as perfectly as he did himself 
 how at times he looked upon this thing of prosecuting 
 a fellow-being to his death as a piece of vulgar barbar- 
 ism revolting to every sense of a higher manhood. 
 
 ** Do you ever consider the situation of a lawyer who, 
 for hire, hounds a human being to the gallows as hunt- 
 ers hound a fox ? " He put the question with a blunt- 
 ness that seemed to him, after he had spoken, almost 
 cruel. 
 
 " Your comparison is not a happy one," she calmly 
 rejoined ; " as righteous men pursue and kill deadly 
 reptiles would sound better. How do you propose to 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 127 
 
 protect society? Is the criminal to be the object of 
 fine sympathy, while the outraged victims of his malice 
 go uncared for? The wages of sin is death." 
 
 She sat for a moment in silence, and then, as if not 
 satisfied with what she had said, added in a slightly 
 altered tone : " Of course a lawyer is never called upon 
 to do any more than his duty. He must never stoop 
 to color facts or to cunningly distort the law." 
 
 Somehow he wished that she did not feel what she 
 said. Not that he could have pointed out any sophis- 
 try in her thought, but her words seemed to convey a 
 suggestion of an acquired and unnatural attitude of 
 her mind. 
 
 " I am afraid your qualifications and limitations 
 would sadly demolish forensic oratory," he said in a 
 lighter manner. " There is usually a great deal of color- 
 ing and distorting in the standard forensic speeches." 
 
 "But you must not do that," she exclaimed, almost 
 with vehemence ; ** you must set a worthy pattern. 
 You see I expect great things of you," she added 
 with a cordial smile. 
 
 "Come to the piano and sing me something," he 
 said, with the air of one who quits a hateful subject. 
 " It is a long while since I heard you last." In fact it 
 had been just four days. 
 
 " Let me read instead of sing," she remarked, taking 
 up a small book from a little table close at hand. " It 
 will vary the monotony." 
 
128 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 "That will do," he said, "so that it is something 
 restful. I believe I am tired. I have been working 
 very hard." 
 
 She read Keats's Ode to a Nightingale with charming 
 effect, so he thought, adding the sweetness of her voice 
 to the rich color and tender melancholy of the incom- 
 parable poem. 
 
 Once in awhile in one's life a very small thing, even 
 so small a thing as hearing a young woman read a poem, 
 has the power to stir one's heart strangely. Miss Wil- 
 ton's voice, as it ran over the swells and cadences of 
 the charming word-music, filled him with a delicate and 
 tender sense of a far-reaching pleasure. As he looked 
 at her a Virgilian verse came into his mind : 
 
 Varium ei mutabile semper fe77iina. 
 
 She seemed just the opposite of what she had been 
 a few minutes before. Then she had appeared ambi- 
 tious, almost austere ; now she looked the very warm 
 embodiment of womanly sweetness. 
 
 Somehow the lines : 
 
 ** O, for a beaker full of the warm South, 
 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim 
 And purple-stained mouth," 
 
 kept repeating themselves in his mind after she had 
 finished. He quoted them aloud and added : 
 
 " I would rather be the author of such a poem as 
 that than to be all the world's best lawyers embodied 
 in one/' 
 
A BANKER OF BA NKERS VILLE. 129 
 
 " But what good would it do you ? This is not the 
 dreamer's age. You would make no fame ; you would 
 die poor and obscure at the end of a wasted life." 
 She assumed almost a severe tone and made certain 
 slight half-impatient gestures as she spoke. " Every 
 life must take its color and force from its environment," 
 she went on, "and there's no poetry in to-day's sur- 
 roundings. Go in for a practical life and aim at some- 
 thing solid, something the age demands, for that way 
 lies success, and success is the meed of all." 
 
 There was nothing didactic or " preachy " in her man- 
 ner. Whilst she was greatly in earnest, she did not 
 grow eloquent ; it was as if she were enunciating the 
 result of a careful study. 
 
 *' Arthur Selby has reached success," said Milford ; 
 *' his is a pleasanter life than a lawyer's. The people he 
 distresses or kills are imaginary ones. I would rather 
 be a novelist than a lawyer." 
 
 "Mr. Selby did not impress me much; he is a very 
 light man in every way, I should judge," she replied 
 in a reflective way. " Literature must be no field for 
 heroes if he can stand among the champions. I never 
 met a more commonplace little person." 
 
 Milford laughed as he instantaneously compared her 
 frank reflections with some of his own on the same 
 subject. 
 
 " It is more what a man achieves than what he is, 
 after all," he suggested evasively, " as regards success." 
 
I30 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 "Yes, but I got an impression from Mr. Selby that 
 artists and poets and novelists are mostly little fellows 
 who couldn't succeed in any strong practical way. I 
 shouldn't like to appear a pigmy beside the people I 
 had invented." 
 
 "You are hard on Selby,'* said Milford ; " he seems 
 to have broken and dispersed all your '* 
 
 " No," she hurriedly remarked, " he simply disclosed 
 the fact that the literary field must, at the best, have a 
 very light soil for such men as he to plow the deepest 
 furrows. I do not mean any unkind reference to Mr. 
 Selby personally. Light men are often the best, but 
 they can not excel in a really heavy profession, where 
 genuine leadership and personal mastery are the test." 
 
 ** Sing me a song, or read me another poem," ex- 
 claimed Milford ; " I feel very weak and light and fear 
 that I am no born chieftain — no hero — but just a plain, 
 old-fashioned, conscientious man." 
 
 "You are an exclusive and a sentimentalist," she 
 responded, taking up his half-bantering manner, as she 
 reopened the volume of Keats. "You will droop and 
 languish in our crisp frosty air. You have too many 
 'Way down upon the Suwanee River' moods, I fear." 
 
 She read two or three sonnets, and afterward, when 
 he was taking leave of her, she said : 
 
 " Promise me before you go that you will make a 
 great speech in the murder case." 
 
 " I will do my best," he answered. He very much 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 13 1 
 
 desired to say a great deal more, for, in response to a 
 hint of something quite insistent and earnest in her 
 voice, his heart leaped and his whole being was thrilled 
 with love. But he forebore. He was too poor to 
 think of it, and then her ideal was not like him. 
 
 " If you really do your best, that is all I ask," she 
 rejoined. " I am going to the court-room to hear 
 you." 
 
 " Then, indeed, I will put forth all the power I 
 have," he said, " for I can not bear to fail in your 
 presence." There was a depth of meaning in his 
 voice, which the words failed to convey. 
 
 " You will not fail if you try hard," she exclaimed 
 with a bright smile, and he went away full of a strange 
 sense of satisfaction. 
 
IX. 
 
 MILFORD continued to board with Mrs. 
 O'Slaughtery, and it pleased him to note a 
 mutual fondness growing between that volatile land- 
 lady and Mr. Downs, the now thriving auctioneer. 
 
 *'He's a good Catholic, Misther Downs is," she one 
 day said to Milford, " and I niver found it out till 
 a little toime ago, the sly boy ! " 
 
 *'Sly o/d boy, you mean, my dear Mrs< 
 O'Slaughtery," said Milford. 
 
 "Owld! old! (correcting her pronunciation) who's 
 old ? Not Misther Downs to be sure ! " 
 
 " He told me that he had been an auctioneer for 
 twenty-eight years. He must have begun young." 
 
 *' Oh, Misther Milford ! how you can fib ! Misther 
 Downs is jist a bit past thirty-foive." She turned 
 aside her head and held up her hands. 
 
 ** You seem to have some interest, some motive — ** 
 Milford began. 
 
 ** There now! There you go again!" she cried. 
 "It's slander me boarders or misripresint me, you do 
 ivry toime. You're getting a bad disposition in- 
 tirely." 
 
 "You are mistaken," said Milford, in a dry, matter- 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 133 
 
 of-fact tone ; '' I like Mr. Downs, he's a very nice old 
 man." 
 
 "Away wid ye!" she exclaimed, forgetting to 
 repress the Irish, " away wid ye ! Ye think ye's smart, 
 ye do, but I don't moind the loikes." She blushed in 
 a charmingly impetuous way and leaned over Milford, 
 who was taking a late luncheon, until her rosy lips 
 were close to his ear. *' We shan't keep any boarders 
 afther we're married, so we shan't. That's what he 
 says ! " 
 
 " So I must begin to look for a new place, eh ? " 
 
 " Niver ye moind, I'll give ye due notice," she said 
 with a very joyous laugh; then in a serious tone she 
 added: "A person has to consider sich a thing as that. 
 It won't do for a woman in my situation to jump right 
 off into the foire, as ye moight say." 
 
 " Never fear, Mrs. O'Slaughtery, Mr. Downs is a 
 good man, and if you love him — " 
 
 " Love him ! Oh, you sloy boy ! " and she rubbed 
 her face with her palms as if to wipe away the scarlet 
 blushes. 
 
 " Well, we won't quarrel about Downs at all events,** 
 Milford remarked, as he got up from the table. " I 
 wish you both a long and happy married life." 
 Remotely, despite a prompt protest in his heart, he 
 was conscious of some connection between what he 
 was saying to Mrs. O'Slaughtery and his own vision of 
 love and happiness. A happy married life ! The phrase 
 
134 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 projected such a picture ! A home, a fire-side, cozy 
 surroundings, and Marian Wilton. A young man has 
 the right to look into the future and contemplate a 
 sketch like that. 
 
 He went back toward his office with one of those 
 feverish impulses, which lately had been rather fre- 
 quent, urging him to redoubled effort in preparing for 
 the great criminal trial. In some way Marian Wilton 
 had become a part of the affair in so far as his hourly 
 increasing interest and anxiety were concerned. It 
 was as if he were making the effort for her, instead of 
 for his client ; for love, instead of for justice. 
 
 It was about this time that one of the newspapers 
 began to publish garbled and distorted stanzas from 
 some of Milford's poems, together with ludicrous so- 
 called explanatory notes in which the editor said some 
 very witty, as well as very insulting things, to which 
 Milford never deigned to pay the slightest attention. 
 
 As he walked toward his office after leaving Mrs. 
 O'Slaughtery's, he became aware of an unusual stir in 
 the street. A considerable crowd of men and boys 
 had come together, and were eagerly discussing some 
 exciting subject. Here and there were smaller knots 
 of persons evidently absorbed in the same question. 
 Downs was the first man Milford reached. 
 
 *' Hullo ! " exclaimed the auctioneer with mingled 
 excitement and admiration in his voice, " your partner 
 is a whole team, hain't he? He's a rattler! " 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. I35 
 
 "What is it?" inquired Milford. 
 
 "What ! don't you know? Didn't you see it? Did 
 you miss the fun ? " 
 
 *'No; what do you mean, what has happened?" 
 
 " Why, Lawson jest swiped the very earth with 
 Dilkins, awhile ago ; didn't you know that? Well, 
 that's what's the matter! " 
 
 *' Dilkins the editor?" 
 
 **Yes, Dilkins the editor, and he jest more'n 
 knocked *im out'n time. You jest ought to 'a' been 
 here. It was wus 'an a Barnum circus ! " 
 
 Just then the crowd over on the other corner 
 parted, and Dilkins, led by two men, came out, dis- 
 heveled, bleeding, his face bruised and swollen and his 
 coat sadly torn and dirty. It was easy to see that he 
 had fared badly. 
 
 '' Look ! " exclaimed Downs. " Both his eyes knocked 
 into one, and his nose spread out all over his counte- 
 nance ! Mr. Lawson knocked *im down three times 
 jest as fast as he could git up. Jerusalem ! but them 
 licks sounded loud ! " 
 
 A moment later, Lawson came out of the crowd 
 attended by the city marshal. He was smiling and 
 gesticulating. 
 
 " Oh, for that matter, I can thrash every editor in 
 town without stopping to rest," he was saying, " and 
 I'm going to do it, if this nagging at my partner, Mr. 
 Milford, isn't stopped. He's a quiet, inoffensive gen- 
 
136 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 tleman, and won't resent any thing, but 77/ do his 
 fighting for him and do it in good style, too, whip an 
 editor every day in the year. What do I care for a 
 little fine?" 
 
 "■ You gave him a good one," said the marshal, 
 jocosely, strutting along at Lawson's side, the picture 
 of an official, conscious of his importance for the 
 moment. It was not every day that he could arrest 
 one of the upper ten of Bankersville. He fancied that 
 he was showing the mob that he was no respecter of 
 persons. 
 
 Milford followed the stream of men now flowing 
 into the mayor's office. Lawson pleaded guilty to an 
 assault and battery, and was formally fined. He 
 handed the money to the mayor, and, with his eyes 
 half turned upon some newspaper men who had pushed 
 to the front, said : 
 
 *• Your honor has done right ; but I give notice now 
 that from this on, until my money is exhausted in 
 fines, I purpose to thrash every editor and every 
 reporter who speaks insultingly of me or my partner 
 without just cause." As he finished speaking, his eyes 
 met those of Miss Crabb, who, under the excitement 
 of the occasion, had come into the room in search of 
 the news. She was already shrinking back and trying 
 to get out. Lawson went to her at once and made 
 way for her exit. 
 
 "Of course, I didn't include you in my list just 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 137 
 
 now," he laughingly half-whispered, " but I mean to 
 do just what I said. I'm going to stop this infernal 
 worrying at Milford, or be found trying. The idea of 
 such a cowardly little fox-eared country editor as Dilk- 
 ins calling a gentleman like Milford a ' rhyming rowdy 
 from rebeldom,' is more than I shall bear after this." 
 
 Milford sought the seclusion of his office, bearing 
 with him a sense of humiliation. A good many 
 remarks reached his ears in the street. Every body 
 seemed to take Lawson's part, and sustain him fully in 
 what he had done to Dilkins. 
 
 " It's just as Lawson says," a burly citizen had 
 exclaimed ; ** Mr. Milford is a quiet, nice, good man 
 who don't harm nobody. He's as nice an' quiet as 
 any woman. Why don't these editors let him alone ? 
 Guess they'll be mighty apt to go slow after this ; 
 they've got Lawson up on his ear now, and he's one 
 of the boys ! He's on his muscle." 
 
 Lawson came in after awhile. He was calm and 
 smiling as usual, and appeared to have got through 
 the encounter without a scratch or a bruise. 
 
 ** I want to beg your pardon, Milford," he exclaimed, 
 *'but I couldn't bear it any longer." 
 
 " It was wrong, rashly wrong," said Milford ; '' you 
 had no right to assume a protecting attitude. I can 
 take excellent care of myself." 
 
 *' Oh, come now, I know you couldn't, situated as 
 you are, turn your hand. You're brave and all that, 
 
138 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 but you know that if you go to fighting you'll take a 
 pistol and a bowie-knife, and that sort of thing won't 
 do up here. No, it's best just as it is. Let me do the 
 fighting ! I've got the muscle and money, and I rather 
 like the exercise. It's wholesome." 
 
 " If you will fight in your own name, and on account 
 of your own affairs, it will be nothing to me," said 
 Milford ; " but I do not choose to have you assume to 
 be my champion." 
 
 Lawson laughed. Then, in a very cordial tone, he 
 said : 
 
 "Oh, I don't assume that. I told McGinnis awhile 
 ago that if they once got you started you'd wake up 
 the whole town. But, in fact, you can't afford it. 
 You are from the South, and are hampered and handi- 
 capped by your rebel record, you know." 
 
 Milford turned quite pale, but said nothing. Law- 
 son continued : 
 
 " It's a great thing for you. Every body is on your side 
 now, and, Milford, if you make a strong speech in that 
 murder case, your rise is certain. You just keep cool 
 and push right on." There was the ring of good-fel- 
 lowship in his voice, which effectually repelled any 
 suspicion of a patronizing purpose in what he said. 
 Milford could not be angry with him, and yet the 
 whole atmosphere of the present state of things was 
 almost unbearable. A man can submit to almost any 
 ordeal with more grace than to the knowledge that 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 139 
 
 there is a public doubt as to his ability to fight his own 
 battles. 
 
 '' I don't want you to weaken on the prosecution at 
 any point," Lawson added, *' for your measure will be 
 taken by the speech you make." 
 
 ** Well, who has said that there is any prospect of 
 any weakening on my part ? " Milford exclaimed ; 
 "why do you and others keep intimating that I 
 am going to betray my client and debase myself by 
 shirking my duty ? I should like an end to this 
 stuff." 
 
 *Tshaw, Milford, you do me wrong. I have not 
 intimated what you say. I am so earnestly desirous 
 of your high success that I may have said something 
 foolish. Forgive me. I am not going to let you think 
 evil of me." 
 
 The young men gazed at each other a moment and 
 then shook hands in token of a better understanding, 
 laughing a little meanwhile. 
 
 Next morning the newspapers were literally full of 
 what they called the Lawson-Dilkins affair. In a 
 general way the editoral comments were favorable to 
 Lawson, but the editor of the News affected to see in 
 the outcome of the encounter a blow given to the 
 freedom of the press, and he ended a scathing para- 
 graph as follows : 
 
 " The editor of this journal does not care to be 
 counted among fighters, but he ventures the casual 
 
t40 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 remark that Mr. Lawson's attack upon Mr. Dilkins 
 was brutal and cowardly. If Mr. Lawson doesn't 
 relish what we here say, we have a seven-shooter which 
 positively denies Mr. Lawson's ability to do to us what 
 he did to Dilkins. T\\^News defies Mr. Lawson." 
 
 No sooner did Lawson see the paragraph than he 
 forthwith went to the News office. The editor had 
 his pistol handy and showed great pluck, but he was 
 excited and fired wide of his aim. Lawson wrenched 
 the weapon out of his hand, seized him by the throat 
 and proceeded to beat him soundly. 
 
 ''Your seven-shooter didn't say the truth," he 
 exclaimed, as he dashed the limp editor into a corner 
 of the room. 
 
 He met Miss Crabb on the stairway, as he went 
 down. She looked at him in utter amazement. She 
 had heard the pistol-shot* 
 
 " I have kept my word," he said, touching his hat 
 and passing on down into the street. His face was 
 very red. 
 
 Of course this second exploit caused still greater 
 excitement, but it put an end to the insulting para- 
 graphs. The proprietors of the News discharged the 
 editor rather than have him attempt to continue the 
 course he had begun. The popular tide was too 
 strong in Lawson's favor. What his money could not 
 have done, his reckless personal courage had accom- 
 plished. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 141 
 
 One good result of all this was the promotion of 
 Miss Crabb to the editor's chair in the News office. 
 She merited the distinction, such as it was, and her 
 influence was good for the journal in many ways. 
 She possessed the rare faculty of being able to separate 
 the news of the hour from the mere worthless and harm- 
 ful gossip which is continually poured into the office 
 of a country newspaper. Not that she was entirely 
 free from the tyranny of petty personal motives, but 
 she tempered even her shortcomings in that direction 
 with a reserve that was in her favor. She had literary 
 aspirations and took occasion to fill a column of the 
 News, now and then, with sprightly notices of new 
 books and comments on the current issues of the maga- 
 zines. Perhaps she at times indulged the hope that 
 some of her well-chosen words of praise might return 
 to her one of these days, like bread cast upon the 
 water, when her novel should at last appear from one 
 of the great Eastern publishing-houses. She certainly 
 believed that literary kissing was to a large degree a 
 matter of favor, for on what other theory could she 
 explain the persistent regularity with which her man- 
 uscripts came back to her from the magazines wherein, 
 just as regularly, appeared the contributions of a cer- 
 tain Miss Luckey, of Ohio ? She felt quite sure that 
 Miss Luckey, although a good writer, possessed no 
 advantage over her other than that of some chance 
 friendship with those who could help her. It was 
 
142 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 natural enough for Miss Crabb to note with a little 
 thrill of delight the announcennent that Mr. Arthur 
 Selby had been made editor of a great magazine pub- 
 lished at New York. The thought of sending him a 
 story came up at once. She had been nursing the 
 MS. for a good while. 
 
 "■ My Dear Mr. Selby :" she wrote, 
 
 " I have just noticed that you have taken editorial 
 
 charge of the magazine. I hope you have not 
 
 forgotten me ; but, whether you have or not, here is 
 a story which I do hope you will find acceptable. Our 
 town has grown a great deal since you were here, but 
 it remembers your visit with pleasure. 
 
 " Very truly yours etc., Sarah Anna Crabb." 
 
 She affixed her signature to this note and sealed it 
 up with the MS., feeling a little fluttering at heart. 
 Would he open the great door of a literary life to 
 her? How easy it would be for him to do it! She 
 was sure that if she had charge of a powerful 
 magazine it would delight her to give a struggling 
 genius the chance to live and grow. Suddenly she 
 tore off the envelope ; how near she had come to ruin- 
 ing her opportunity ! She hastily examined the top 
 of the first page of the MS. Sure enough, there, on 
 the margin, were the cabalistic pencil-marks of the last 
 editor who had declined it. She took an eraser and 
 carefully rubbed off the figures and letters. This did 
 not satisfy her, however, for there was the evidence of 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 143 
 
 the erasure. She wrote a new initial page, only to 
 discover that this fresh sheet showed, plainer than 
 ever, the trick she was trying to play. So she wrote 
 the MS. all over again, from beginning to end. This 
 done, she posted the package with a beating heart. 
 
WHEN the circuit court was in session and the 
 day set for the much-talked-of trial had ar- 
 rived, a large concourse of people was disappointed ; 
 the cause was continued by the defendant on account 
 of an absent witness. This delay carried the trial for- 
 ward to the spring term. 
 
 Milford felt a sudden waft of relief pass over his 
 brain, like a soothing breath. The fair, troubled, boy- 
 ish face of young Hempstead, the prisoner, had affected 
 him deeply, as it shone, half-frightened, half-bewil- 
 dered among the careless countenances of the encir- 
 cling lawyers. It may have been that the presence of 
 a criminal advocate of almost world-wide fame, a man 
 of giant frame and leonine face, added something to 
 Milford's dread. Not that he was a timid man, but 
 he felt that all the advantage of personal prestige and 
 of popular expectation lay with the famous lawyer; 
 whilst he, all untried and undeveloped, had nothing in 
 his favor beyond the cold, cruel demands of legal jus- 
 tice. 
 
 Young Hempstead, the murderer, was small of stat- 
 ure, with deep-set eyes and a waxen face, jet-black 
 hair and uneven teeth ; but his expression was not 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. I45 
 
 wicked, much less cruel. The close observer would 
 note in the thick lips and broad chin the key to the 
 boy's character — where passionate impulses ruled in 
 the place of moral force — a character not dangerous to 
 others, as a rule, but prone to feeding upon its own 
 vitals, so to speak ; a sensuous nature devoid of self- 
 poise and without any understanding of moral respon- 
 sibility in its widest meaning; one of a large class of 
 criminals, indeed, who are supremely selfish, rather 
 than hopelessly depraved, and whose crimes have their 
 source in uncontrollable passions. His case was an 
 instance of the debatable sort where the question of 
 hereditary weakness, or obscure nervous disease, or 
 still more remote psychal lesion, may arise in the ultra- 
 humane mind of the investigator. Few, indeed, are 
 the lawyers of extensive practice who have not, over 
 and over again, dissected, all in vain, problems of this 
 sort. The irresistible trend of certain characters 
 toward crime, how shall we make it consist with re- 
 sponsibility? Shall we hang a human being by the 
 neck until he die because his nerve-centers have be- 
 come incurably diseased, or because some hereditary 
 seed of crime ripen in his soul ? Probe as we may, we 
 shall never be able to find the secret roots of insanity, 
 or the original fountain of transgression, nor shall we 
 ever purify life by the processes of the criminal law; 
 and yet we must remain inexorable, for fear that 
 any relaxation of punishment may tend to develop 
 
146 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 myriads of incipient, hitherto retarded, cancers of the 
 soul. 
 
 The spring drew on, opening unusually early, with 
 a dash of green on the buck-eye trees and a pinkish 
 snow of claytonias on the warm southward slopes of 
 the woods. May had scarcely come when a real 
 breath of summer swept over the broad, beautiful val- 
 ley of the Wabash. Bankersville responded to the 
 fervor of the weather with all the vim and enthusiasm 
 of a true Western town. The maple trees that shaded 
 the streets were not more gayly clothed than were the 
 prosperous people who strolled in the avenues, or rode, 
 or drove, along the well-kept streets and bloom-scented 
 suburban lanes. Everywhere was color ; it was as if 
 the new school in art had exemplified its theory in 
 the purity, the brilliancy, and the variety of color, 
 effects noticeable any afternoon on the broad, fashion- 
 able boulevard where the mothers, nurse-girls, misses 
 and young ladies of Bankersville seemed fairly to float 
 in the ravishing air, like a cloud of wavering butterflies. 
 
 Say what may be said in all truth from the point of 
 view of the most jaundiced observer, and yet the fact 
 remains that the typical Western town is full of thrift 
 and energy and is haunted by happy people. If some 
 itinerant philosopher there be wandering the world 
 over in search of a truly charming instance of happi- 
 ness in the home life, let him go visit a Western town. 
 There he may turn from any broad, clean street and 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 147 
 
 pass through the first newly-painted gate into an 
 earthly Eden, where love is alive and healthy, and 
 where the kisses of pure lips have made the air good 
 to breathe. Nor is culture, of a free-hand, liberal, 
 sketchy sort, wanting. There are books and maga- 
 zines and art-journals, along with blushing bits of 
 embroidery and some pleasing touches of decorative 
 arrangement in hangings and furniture. The piano 
 here, the organ there, a guitar, perhaps, often a violin, 
 sometimes a banjo, assert a musical taste quite 
 advanced and general. True, the Western town is not 
 conventional, its accent is rather broad and raw to the 
 ears of over-nice people, but it has viviality in its 
 character and sincerity of purpose in all it says and 
 does ; from all of which it results that a Western town 
 is open to the operations of the swindler and the 
 adventurer. The desire to get on in the world, make 
 money, amass property, was as active and general in 
 Bankersville as ever it was in any town, and side by 
 side with this desire ran a swift current of progress in 
 all manner of extravagances which may be called 
 polite. The women knew how to dress, the men knew 
 how to use fine horses and showy equipages to the best 
 effect, and how to build beautiful houses. Bankersville 
 had a strong bicycle club, a famous base-ball nine, 
 some very fast horses and a much patronized skating 
 rink, to say nothing of the bucket-shop, that peculiar 
 outlier of the Chicago speculating machine. 
 
X40 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 This Spring Bankerville was, to use the phrase of a 
 real-estate agent, " on a general boom," and, in many 
 ways, Lawson was the exciting cause of the great furor 
 for out-lots just now so prevalent. He was platting 
 addition after addition to the town (city, with a big 
 C, the Bankersville people preferred to say), and the 
 prices of lots were increasing in a way to captivate the 
 public. In a word, every body was speculating, more 
 or less, either in out-lots or through the bucket-shop or 
 directly in Chicago. Somehow Lawson was the spirit 
 and core of it all ; his schemes were almost numberless, 
 and no one besides himself knew how far they reached. 
 One thing the whole public knew of, however, his great 
 liberality to churches, schools and charities. He was 
 extremely popular, though, as a matter of course, he 
 had made some pronounced enemies. Milford, not- 
 withstanding a steadily growing law practice and the 
 load imposed upon him by the pending murder case, 
 had been drawn, by an irresistible fascination, into 
 literature deeper and deeper. He had even gone so 
 far as to begin publishing poems and stories over his 
 own name in one of the Eastern monthly magazines, 
 and it is but fair to add that he had attracted the most 
 favorable attention of the critics. Not that he was in 
 the way of becoming famous, for, account for it as we 
 may, the provincial writer usually reaches success by 
 the longest route. He is regarded by the clubs and 
 coteries of the great literary centers as a sort of free- 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 149 
 
 lance ridirtg uninvited into the lists of authorship, and 
 against his queer-fitting armor and outlandish trap- 
 pings are hurled the arrows, javelins and catapult- 
 missiles of all the wits who chance to observe him. 
 He feels that, in a degree, he is an Ishmaelite, and is 
 quite too ready to fight all comers. Herein, perhaps, 
 lies the secret of your provincial's solemn, humorless 
 earnestness of effort, his tendency to view his calling 
 as the whole of life, and his inability to compass the 
 lighter details of art. 
 
 Miss Crabb, observing Milford's apparent literary 
 progress, often came to him for a species of comfort 
 very dear to the literary aspirant — sympathy. She 
 brought him Arthur Selby's answer to her note that 
 had accompanied her MS. story. She was very con- 
 fiding. 
 
 " Read it, please," she said with a slight frown of per- 
 plexity. " I can't just gather what he means. He 
 returns my story, but, at the same time, seems to wish 
 to publish it. What do you make of it ? " 
 
 Milford read as follows : 
 
 New York 
 
 "My dear Miss Crabb: 
 
 "My thanks are due you for allow- 
 ing me to see your story, and I must apologize for the 
 delay. So many good things are sent us, and we have 
 room for so few, that I am perplexed all the time. I 
 wish I could use every good story I get, and especially 
 
15^ A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 those sent me by my friends. Your story has many 
 good points 2.ndi your woi7ten are not in the least insipid. 
 Pray remember me to Dr. Wilton's household. 
 " Faithfully yours, 
 
 "Arthur Selby." 
 
 ** What a good memory he must have," she said, as 
 Milford looked up from finishing the note. ** That last 
 sentence refers to a thing I told him when he was here. 
 Do you suppose he refused my story because I criti- 
 cised the women of his novels?" 
 
 " The ways of an editor are past finding out," Mil- 
 ford responded. ** It would be useless to try to get 
 at Mr. Selby's feelings through his letter." 
 
 "It's a very cordial note, I think, don't you?" she 
 ventured. "It is full of sympathy." 
 
 Milford looked at her and could not have the heart 
 to put a damper on her hope. She was evidently 
 encouraged by the tone of the editor*s communica- 
 tion. 
 
 " It is a wonder he wrote at all," he said, deceitfully, 
 avoiding her inquiry. " Most editors have a way of 
 using printed slips, you know." 
 
 " Indeed I do know," she laughingly replied. 
 " Those hateful printed forms are photographed on 
 my memory forever." 
 
 " I have seen them," Milford rejoined, dryly. "They 
 are poor consolers." 
 
 Miss Crabb went away puzzled, but in good spirits, 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 151 
 
 feeling that she was just a little nearer the goal of her 
 literary aspirations ; for, of all the world, an unsophis- 
 ticated literary person is the most defenseless against 
 insidious deceits practiced by the average moral 
 diplomat. If Keats really did not die of a critic's 
 stab, the danger still remains that a strong dose of 
 fraudulent praise may kill the usefulness of a good scrive- 
 ner who has ventured to try a literary flight. Some- 
 thing pathetic, and yet not too pathetic for a touch of 
 humor, runs through this provincial cacoethes scribendi 
 which is found in some stage affecting the social 
 atmosphere of almost every town in the West. If the 
 country can get safely through the incipient stages, 
 the most dangerous part of the malady, something 
 really excellent may come of all this provincial liter- 
 ary travail. Be this as it may, no history of social 
 life in a Western town is at all complete with the 
 element of literary ambition left out. The inglorious 
 Miltons and Sapphos of Kokomo and Kalamazoo are 
 by no means mute, and their undying desire is to not 
 remain always inglorious. 
 
 An artistic temperament has never been accounted 
 the best for a successful man of affairs, notwithstand- 
 ing that a great many writers within the last half- 
 century have been auteurs d' argent. Setting up a 
 literary shop, wherein the author sits and dictates to 
 the stenographer and to the girl who fingers the type- 
 writer, is now quite an easy thing to the popular nov- 
 
152 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 elist ; but your novelist has come to be sui generis^ 
 and he is no longer an artist in the best sense of the 
 word. Art is not compassed by machinery. A soul 
 can not be photographed. But the statement may be 
 diluted so as to include the merely literary tempera- 
 ment, and still the assertion will hold good ; for the 
 literary man is not the man, as a rule, to be successful 
 in business affairs. The world has sealed this truth, 
 and the provincial author is made to feel that the 
 autorial life is one of questionable propriety for a man. 
 The country town looks upon its poet as upon a good 
 but rather disreputable joke ; it is proud of him, in a 
 certain way, just as it is proud of its five-legged calf, 
 because he is often mentioned in the newspapers, but 
 it is obscurely ashamed of him as well, believing him 
 to be a sort of fun-bundle for the rest of the world. 
 It expects a shiftless career of him, and smiles askance 
 whenever he puts on a new coat. So deep-seated and 
 pervading is the popular prejudice in this connection 
 that nothing, not even moral obliquity, can hinder a 
 professional man, a lawyer, for instance, more than to 
 have it known that he has dipped his office-pen in 
 literary ink. Milford understood this, but he went on, 
 taking a willful pleasure in thus tampering with the 
 current of his fortune. He could not feel sure of his 
 literary gift, nor was he able to quite justify himself in 
 his lukewarm treatment of his legal vocation, and yet 
 he found himself getting more and more under the 
 
A BA NKER OF BA NKERS VILLE. 1 5 3 
 
 spell of a rather vague literar>^ ambition. It appeared 
 so much better suited to his tastes to be able to make 
 his effects by silent and gentle means, than to have to 
 depend upon a species of physical superiority to which 
 no genuine gentleman will appeal save in cases of the 
 highest and most urgent need. Perhaps, after all, an 
 enlightened conscience is the generator of art, and it 
 may be that such a conscience recoils from the shock 
 of certain business methods usually deemed fair and 
 just ; hence the world, which cares not much for con- 
 science of any sort, may look upon the artistic temper- 
 ament as effeminate and nerveless, as proof positive, 
 in other words, of the absence of virility, and the 
 world may be right. 
 
 Milford was all the time over-conscious that the 
 public mind was sensitive to the great difference 
 between his measure of success and that of his part- 
 ner, and he could not fail to see that this difference 
 precisely indicated the ratio of his public influence to 
 that of Lawson. He knew how largely, how almost 
 wholly, Lawson's rise had been a matter of mere luck ; 
 still the man himself had, Milford was aware, added a 
 strange force and picturesqueness to each turn of for- 
 tune's wheel, so that his victories had not lacked the 
 subtle influence, the elusive fascination of the strokes 
 of audacious genius. 
 
 " I have never asked you to join me in any of my 
 ventures, Milford," Lawson said one day — it was about 
 
154 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 the time that the real-estate furor was at its height— 
 "and the reason has been that you have seemed to 
 look upon speculation as immoral. You might have 
 made just as much money as I have, if you had been 
 willing to take the risks I have taken." 
 
 While Lawson was speaking, his huge watch-seal, his 
 showy rings, and his splendid diamond pin attracted 
 Milford's attention for the first time, and then he went 
 on to note how stout Lawson had grown, and how 
 thick his neck was. It was easy enough now to see 
 that Lawson, although still smooth-shaven, was no 
 longer boyish in appearance ; there was something 
 heavy and cold behind the genial surface of his counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " I am quite satisfied," said Milford ; ** I'm doing 
 well enough." 
 
 " Oh, certainly you are ; you are doing well, consid- 
 ering the draw-back under which you labor ; but I have 
 thought that your true field is literature and that if 
 you had money, which means leisure, you might give 
 full rein to your ambition in that direction.** Lawson 
 spoke in a matter-of-fact way, but his voice had a ring 
 of cordial friendship that touched Milford. " Now, in 
 all frankness," he continued, "am I not quite right?" 
 
 " No doubt you generalize well," said Milford, " but 
 it is too much to assume that what one man has done 
 another may do. The circumstances of no two per- 
 sons are identical or mathematically equivalent, even ; 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. I55 
 
 and, besides, I am not endowed with a genius for — " 
 he was about to say gambHng, but substituted : " guess- 
 ing lucky numbers." 
 
 Lawson laughed, rightly interpreting Milford's mean- 
 ing, but dashed at once boldly at his purpose. 
 
 '* Well, there's a sure thing in lard now in Chicago, 
 and I suggest to you that a small deal will make you 
 big money." 
 
 " I can not do it," responded Milford, with the em- 
 phasis of one who spurns a temptation. 
 
 *' Let me do it for you, then," urged Lawson, rising 
 as if to go. " It's a dead sure thing. A thousand dol- 
 lars will make you twenty thousand, if closely followed 
 up, inside of fifteen days." 
 
 " No," answered Milford ; " I thank you, but I will 
 not do it." 
 
 Lawson stood for a minute in silence, then, with an- 
 other laugh, exclaimed : 
 
 ** Well, lend me all the money you have for a few 
 days ; I can use it to good effect in my own behalf." 
 
 Milford looked up from the book before him and 
 with genuine inquiry demanded : 
 
 " Do you really wish it ? Are you in earnest ? " 
 
 " Yes, most assuredly. I can't bear to see capital 
 lying idle." Lawson laughed again as he said this, 
 then added in a tone of business : "■ Why, I could use 
 a million dollars to-day. I could double the money in 
 three days." 
 
156 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Milford took his bank-book from a drawer of his 
 desk, and, after a glamce at his balance, wrote a check 
 for fifteen hundred dollars, which represented nearly 
 the whole of his savings. 
 
 Lawson pocketed the paper, with a peculiar smile, 
 and went out of the office. 
 
 It is but fair to state that Milford did not chance to 
 consider that Lawson was going to use this money in 
 gambling on the price of lard in Chicago. He viewed 
 the loan in the light of a friendly bit of accommoda- 
 tion ; but after Lawson was gone, the thought arose in 
 Milford's mind : " What if Lawson is on the verge of 
 financial ruin ! What if he is clutching at such a straw 
 of salvation as this small sum offers ! " Then he felt 
 a flush of shame come up in his face as he found his re- 
 flections taking a narrow, selfish turn. Let the money 
 go, he could live without it ! Did he not owe every 
 thing to Lawson ? 
 
XL 
 
 McGINNIS and Lawson had continued to stand 
 together in financial affairs ; and by degrees Law- 
 son had managed to get a large interest in the bank of 
 which McGinnis was the chief spirit. The name 
 banker has, of itself, a great value in a Western town : 
 it suggests a wealth quite different from any other, and 
 associates itself with the thought of social solidity and 
 limitless financial responsibility. So that when Law- 
 son got to be a banker he had gained the right to be 
 regarded with complacent confidence by the larger 
 part of the Bankersville people. True, there were 
 those among the staid conservatives who shook their 
 heads and furtively predicted his downfall ; but his 
 following included nearly all the wide-awake, ambi- 
 tious, pushing business men of the town. Milford, on 
 the other hand, though he had in many ways disclosed 
 sterling qualities as a citizen and excellent abilities as 
 a lawyer, attracted little notice and was allowed to go 
 along as best he could. Miss Crabb copied in the 
 News all his contributions to the magazines, with favor- 
 able editorial notices of them ; but this was a positive 
 hurt to him. Often he was at the point of asking her 
 to quit this friendly turn, but he could not do it; she 
 
158 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 seemed to regard it as such a pleasant duty, that to 
 deny it to her he felt would be almost brutal. 
 
 '' If I was you, Mr. Milford, I'll be dern if I'd write 
 any more of them little pomes," said a kind-hearted and 
 observant farmer-friend to him one day in the office. 
 
 Lawson was present and laughed uproariously. 
 
 " Well, you may laugh," added the speaker, '* but I 
 mean it. 'Course the pomes is all right 'nough, but 
 the folks in these parts don't take up with the idee of 
 a grown man a-foolin* away his time at sech doin's. 
 Mr. Milford ort to go to Congress in this deestric', an* 
 he c'u'd go ef he'd quit poetry an* git right down to 
 business. Fac', shore* you live, he c'u'd do it like a 
 dern." As he finished speaking, the farmer bit off a 
 quid from a plug of black tobacco in a manner which 
 emphasized his earnestness. 
 
 " I should redouble my efforts in the poetical field," 
 said Milford, very kindly, ''if I thought it would ward 
 off any danger of my getting into politics." 
 
 " Gittin' into politics," echoed the farmer, a petulant 
 ring noticeable in his voice as he looked almost ill- 
 naturedly at Milford. *' Every man 'at's any account 
 has to be — he's jest obliged to be in politics. Dern 
 me, if I was educated, I'd git there, an* don't ye for- 
 git it, nuther ! " 
 
 ** Statesmanship, as it now exists, is not fascinating 
 to me," replied Milford carelessly, feeling no interest 
 in the conversation. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 159 
 
 "Oh, well, go on with your hard-head an' see what 
 ye'll come to with your dern little pomes. I don't keen" 
 
 Milford laughed. 
 
 " Well, you hain't got my spunk, young man," con- 
 tinued the farmer in a deprecatory tone, and letting fly 
 a stream of dark juice from the mass of his shaggy 
 beard, " not by a dern sight. If I wus you I'd git to 
 Congress or I'd bust a swingletree. 'Taint no use a 
 foolin' away yer chances on them pomes. It's too much 
 like a woman's doin's." 
 
 •' Upon the whole," said Lawson, when the farmer 
 had taken his leave, " the old fellow was about right. 
 This literary business is death on your prospects as a 
 lawyer. The people will have none of it." 
 
 "The people can't help themselves," responded 
 Milford ; and at that moment a woman came into the 
 office and stopped near the door, where she stood look- 
 ing timidly and forlornly back and forth from one of 
 the men to the other. She was about fifty years old 
 apparently, — sallow, thin-visaged and gray-haired. 
 Her dress was neat and of rather costly material, 
 while her air was that of a person who, unused to 
 society and the ways of the world, had found herself 
 in a place where she felt utterly at a loss what to do. 
 Lawson, as was his way whenever a client came in, 
 rose and went down into the street. Milford politely 
 offered a chair to the woman ; she sank into it with an 
 audible sigh. 
 
i6o A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " Are you the lawyer ? " she inquired, her voice thin 
 and quavering. She fumbled nervously about the 
 neck-band of her dress. 
 
 "Yes, I am a lawyer; my name is Milford," he 
 answered ; " do you wish to " 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes," she quickly exclaimed, before he 
 could finish the sentence, lifting her pale eyes to his 
 and letting them fall again immediately. Her breath- 
 ing was hurried and her lips quivered. Twice she 
 tried to speak further, faltering and failing each time. 
 
 Milford took a seat near her and said, in a reassuring 
 tone : 
 
 " Do not be excited, perhaps you will speak more 
 easily after you have rested a moment ; our stairway 
 is very steep." 
 
 She held a little leather bag in one hand, which she 
 turned over and over on her lap with a nervous, hesita- 
 ting motion. 
 
 " I thought I might come and see you, as it wouldn't 
 be no harm," she said at length, carrying her unoc- 
 cupied hand to her throat again, where a small black 
 band was fastened by a large gold pin, in which was set 
 the photograph of a man's face ; " but I don't know as 
 it can do any good." 
 
 " I shall be glad to do any thing I can for you," he 
 said. " Speak freely to me, please." 
 
 "He didn't know I come here," she went on," I 
 come of my own accord. I felt like I must come, if, 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. i6l 
 
 if — if it killed me. Oh, I don't know what to say — to 
 say to you ! " She broke down and sobbed hysteri- 
 cally, her slight form shivering strangely. '' Oh, it's so 
 hard, so hard ! " 
 
 Milford could think of nothing to say ; he felt that 
 her distress must be too deep for any relief he could 
 offer. She was a pathetic picture as she cowered 
 there. 
 
 " Tell me your trouble," he finally ventured, his voice 
 conveying his sympathy, " and I will see what I can 
 do for you." 
 
 '' You don't know me — you don't know who I am. 
 He's my boy — I'm his mother," she explained, in a 
 gasping way. 
 
 " Of whom do you speak ? " he gently inquired. 
 ** Who is your son ? Is he in trouble ? " 
 
 " Billy Hempstead — I'm his mother, I want to see 
 you about him." 
 
 " Hempstead ! you do not mean the young man in 
 the jail ; the one I am prosecuting ? " 
 
 *' Yes, him— oh ! " 
 
 Milford felt a cold sweat coming out on his fore- 
 head and his heart sank within hire, as he gazed at 
 the poor broken-hearted woman, whose ey?^, pale and 
 almost expressionless, seemed to burn without light. 
 
 '' Indeed, madam, I can not talk with you about him ; 
 it is out of my power. I can not think of it," he 
 exclaimed, speaking hurriedly, almost at-random ; ** I 
 
l62 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 am employed against him. I am sorry, but our inter- 
 view must end here." He rose, thinking she would go. 
 
 She did not move, however. She nervously fum- 
 bled the clasp of her bag ; her sallow face had grown 
 ghastly and its wrinkles had deepened. 
 
 " Oh, sir, here's all the money I could get," she 
 wailed, drawing forth from the bag a roll of bills and 
 holding it toward him ; " I want to fee you to be my 
 lawyer. I'll get you more, I've got a farm in my own 
 name, I'll mortgage that, I'll " 
 
 " Stop, Mrs. Hempstead, stop, I can not listen. 
 You must understand that it is quite impossible," he 
 said, interrupting her. " You do not comprehend what 
 you are trying to do. You do not wish to " 
 
 ** Yes, yes, I do, too. I know all I am doing, and I 
 don't care for the money. Oh, I'd give the whole 
 world to save him, — he's my baby, my only boy ! Take 
 it, take it ! " She still held the money toward him, 
 her hand shaking as if palsied. A purplish spot appeared 
 on either cheek, adding something almost terrible to 
 her expression. 
 
 " I appreciate your situation, I sympathize with 
 you, indeed I do, Mrs. Hempstead ; but I can not take 
 your money or do any thing for you whatever. I am 
 powerless. You must go to the lawyers for the 
 defense," he said, speaking rapidly and firmly, — cruelly 
 it seemed to him. He turned his eyes away from her, 
 unable to bear the burning agony of her countenance. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 163 
 
 " But you won't make them kill my poor, poor boy — 
 my only one ? Oh, Mr. Milford, for the good Lord's 
 sake, have mercy on him and me ! He hain't done 
 nothing to you ; what have you got against him ? I 
 will pay you twice as much as they will — all I've got in 
 the world shall be yours ! " 
 
 She tottered to her feet and stood swaying to and 
 fro before him. " I feel like you had his life in your 
 hands — you can save him, I know you can, and he's 
 all I've got. My baby-boy! My precious child!" 
 
 '' You must go away, madam ; it is very wrong for 
 you to be here," Milford exclaimed in a hoarse voice. 
 "Go away from me, please." Words failed him ; his 
 mind was inoperative ; he was without tact or expedient 
 with which to escape from the predicament. He took 
 her gently by the arm and tried to turn her toward the 
 door. Just then a footfall sounded on the stairs, and 
 in a moment a short, stout man came in briskly, with 
 the air of one in a great hurry. His thin, stubby 
 beard and upright iron-gray hair added accent to the 
 peculiar expression of energy that shot from his face. 
 He was clad in a farmer's work-a-day clothes. 
 
 "W'y, Marthy, what you here for? I've been a 
 huntin* ye all over town, an* finally Downs he told me 
 he seen ye come up here. What's the matter?" 
 
 The woman glanced at him as he stepped into the 
 room, then cowered before him in silence, almost sink- 
 ing to the floor. He walked up to her and took hold 
 
1 64 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 of her with rough kindness. There was something 
 like melancholy behind the outward expression of his 
 face ; it made itself felt in his voice as he said, aside to 
 Milford : 
 
 " She's 'most distracted, lawyer, she takes it awful 
 hard. Mus'n't notice her." 
 
 " I'm glad you have come, Mr. Hempstead," Milford 
 managed to say ; *' it is very embarrassing to me. I'm 
 powerless, you know, and can not afford to talk to her. 
 It would be dishonorable, as well as unprofessional." 
 
 " Certainly, lawyer, I know how you're fixed. You're 
 hired, jest as I hire a hand to work in the field, and 
 you've got to earn your livin' ; I don't think hard of 
 you ; but the weemin, they don't rightly git at the 
 p'int, they don't see it in that light. Come on, Marthy, 
 let's be a-goin." He wasted no words, but led her 
 away forthwith. She turned her face as she passed 
 through the door and gave Milford a look he never can 
 forget ; a look of abject, unutterable despair. 
 
 The lawyer walked back and forth in his ofHce in a 
 mood far from pleasant. Taking the best view of what 
 he had just passed through, it left him in no enviable 
 or even desirable situation. Somehow, the sentence 
 uttered by Mr. Hempstead: ''You're hired, jest as I 
 hire a hand to work in the field, and you've got to earn 
 your livin'," kept repeating itself, accent and all, in his 
 mind. He went and stood by a window overlooking 
 the street and the court-house square. Quite a crowd 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 165 
 
 of men had collected around a stand from which Downs 
 was ** crying " a sale for the county sheriff. A lot of 
 forlorn looking household plunder, bedsteads, chairs, 
 tables, an old stove and a heap of crockery-ware, lay 
 on the ground, awaiting the last act in the tragedy of 
 debt. This was the end of a petty foreclosure suit, 
 the final work of a small chattel mortgage. The debtor 
 stood by, with his hands in his pockets, looking rather 
 indifferently disconsolate. Milford's state of mind 
 rendered him acutely receptive of the effects this 
 picture might produce. He was ready, for the mo- 
 ment, to say that the lawyer's life is the life of a vam- 
 pyre ; he lives by drawing out the life-blood from his 
 fellows-beings. It may be assumed that most men, at 
 one time or another, suffer such a mood as this to cast 
 a jaundiced light over their affairs, making the struggle 
 for mere bread appear little better than a robber's 
 work; but the imagination is closely connected with 
 the conscience, and a man like Milford sees things in 
 a light not afforded by the merely practical mind. 
 
 *' WhoVe they sellin* out over there } " he heard some 
 one call out in the street below. 
 
 '* Tom Curry," another responded. 
 
 *'Well, that's the way it goes," said the first; "it's all 
 in a life-time." 
 
 " Tom orter had better luck," gruffly interposed a 
 third voice. 
 
 There was a laugh and the sale went on. Milford 
 
1 66 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 could hear the crudely humorous sayings of the auc- 
 tioneer, the bids and counter-bids, and the rough jokes 
 of the bystanders. He wondered how Tom Curry felt 
 under the strain of the misfortune ; wondered if the 
 man had a wife and little children to suffer with him. 
 He imagined a lean, work-worn woman with little, 
 toddling, half-starved children pulling at her skirts. 
 To-night they would have no bed, no stove, no table, 
 no food, and all on account of the law and lawyers. 
 
 *' Bah ! " he shook himself and tried to smile at the 
 ghastly and jaundiced picture he had conjured up. 
 Indeed, he did smile and wonder why he had allowed 
 such things to affect him so deeply. Nevertheless, he 
 was conscious, for the rest of the day, of a lingering 
 disquietude of mind, a sense of depression and dullness 
 that rendered study impossible. It was as if he 
 doubted himself and were afraid to go on. 
 
 That evening he went to the First Presbyterian 
 Church to look in upon the social, that pleasant in- 
 stitution which has done so much for the world, espe- 
 cially in the West. He was late arriving, having con- 
 sumed on extra hour at his boarding-house in giving 
 instructions and advice to Downs and Mrs. O'Slaugh- 
 tery, touching a purchase of some real estate they 
 were on the point of making in a joint way. Law- 
 son, whose interest in church matters had been ex- 
 pressed, as a general rule, in dollars instead of by 
 personal attendance at the meetings, was present on 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. l6'J 
 
 this occasion, conspicuous as much for his nearly 
 finical fineness of clothes as for his stalwart, almost 
 portly figure and broad, heavy, beardless face. He 
 was in high spirits, for Chicago had been kind to 
 him lately, especially in the matter of a heavy deal 
 in lard. He was in conversation with Marian Wilton 
 when Milford entered the church-parlor, and some- 
 how his attitude, his great watch-seal, his diamond 
 pin, and the expression of his face were suggestive, 
 to Milford's mind, of a harmony suited to a gambling 
 room rather than to a church-parlor. Lawson's luck- 
 money, however, was no more apparent in his personal 
 apparel than in the stained-glass windows yonder, or 
 in the satin cushions of the chairs. He had been stu- 
 diously liberal in his aid to the First Church, and had 
 often laughingly declared himself an outstanding pillar 
 of the institution — a financial deacon. 
 
 These socials were quite popular in Bankersville, 
 as meetings where young and old came together, 
 primarily for the good of certain charities and sundry 
 missions, but with a strong secondary purpose of a 
 purely social nature, which gave the old an opportu- 
 nity for mild, harmless gossip, and the young quite a 
 free field for a suppressed and rather puritanical sort 
 of flirtation. Here Miss Crabb was in her element ; 
 killing two birds with one stone by collecting many 
 items for her paper while enjoying an hour or two on 
 good terms with congenial people. She took posses- 
 
1 68 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 sion of Milford as soon as he came in, and could 
 scarcely get through with the slight formality of greet- 
 ing before she breathlessly said : 
 
 "Congratulate me! I've been crowned, I've com- 
 pleted my happiness ! " She was radiant. 
 
 " Who is the fortunate man ? " he asked, rather per- 
 functorily, his eyes wandering towards Marian Wilton. 
 
 " Man ! What has a man got to do with it ? Oh, 
 yes, I suppose the editor is a man, for that matter." 
 
 " Ah, it is literary instead of matrimonial happiness 
 you speak of, is it? I'm glad. Tell me the good 
 news." 
 
 *' My essay on Sappho goes into an early number 
 of the American Monthly ; don't you know I'm 
 proud ? My head is nearly to the stars." 
 
 ** This is indeed something to congratulate you 
 on," he said, cordially enough, now that Miss Wilton 
 had left Lawson's side. '' I am as proud of your 
 deserved recognition as you are. It's no easy thing 
 to get into those aristocratic columns. But you'll 
 have no trouble hereafter." 
 
 He slipped away from her as soon as possible, 
 taking his course from one acquaintance to another, 
 always in a certain direction, until he reached the 
 girl he loved. 
 
 ** I had begun to think you were not coming," she 
 exclaimed, as he came near her. ** You must be grow- 
 ing studious," 
 
A BA NKER OF BA iVKER S VILLE. 1 6 9 
 
 " Had you really given me a thought before you 
 saw me ? " he asked, and he looked into her face 
 almost eagerly, speaking as one does when each word 
 is loaded with intense earnestness. '' I would give the 
 whole world to know that you had." There was a 
 fervor in his voice that seemed to convey much more 
 than the words, and he leaned a little closer to her. 
 
 A change went over her face ; her eyes fell, but she 
 lifted them again instantly, and in her lightest way she 
 said : 
 
 " Oh, certainly, I thought of you ; it was when Mr. 
 Lawson spoke of you." She laughed a little and con- 
 tinued: ''One's thoughts can not be wholly con- 
 trolled." 
 
 '* Nor one's feelings, either," he replied, striving to 
 fall into her manner. " I wish I knew yours now." 
 
 '* If you did you might be very sorry for me," 
 she said ; and he could not tell whether she was serious 
 or not, so inscrutable were her face and air. But 
 in a moment she added, with a pretty smile : " My 
 feelings are so trivial and uninteresting, as a rule, 
 especially on occasions like this." 
 
 ** You have had time to gather yourself together 
 since you spoke," he said, *' and now you have your 
 feelings thoroughly in hand ; but will you say to me 
 that what was in your mind and heart at the moment 
 was trivial and uninteresting? " He inwardly recoiled 
 from something in his own words. 
 
170 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 *' That was a long while ago ; you can't expect me 
 to recollect now ; and, besides, you have not had tea 
 and I should like an ice, and a hundred other things 
 tend to make me forgetful." She had fully recovered 
 her lightest manner now. 
 
 He offered her his arm to take her to the room 
 where the refreshments were spread, conscious, as she 
 leaned airily upon him, that she was further from him 
 and at the same time closer to him than ever she had 
 been before — a lover's paradox, as hard to state as it 
 was easy for him to realize. 
 
 A woman likes a man who is wise enough to 
 humor her moods, without appearing to do it, and she 
 trusts him in proportion to his cleverness in trimming 
 his sails to the breezes she sees fit to set in motion. 
 Marian Wilton was aware that Milford regarded hei 
 with interest, but she did not permit the thought 
 that this interest was love. In fact, she was fond oi 
 asserting, all to herself, that he was not as near hei 
 ideal of a man as was Lawson. True, Lawson was 
 lacking in polish and that touch of sentiment which 
 begets tenderness, but he possessed the charm which 
 always attends success, as well as that still more 
 doubtful quality of mere personal force. 
 
 *' I wish I were as happy and hopeful this evening 
 as Miss Crabb is," she said, as they approached a 
 table. " I suppose she has told you — she is telling 
 every body." 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 17 1 
 
 "I thought you looked charmingly contented when 
 I came in," he responded ; then feeling that the allu- 
 sion was not quite amiable in some way, he tried to 
 better it by adding: '* Lawson has the gift of making 
 himself good company ; don't you think so ? " 
 
 " Yes, he's so much in earnest about every thing, he 
 gives one the impression that life is a wide field, with 
 room enough for us all. His optimism is comforting 
 and — and encouraging. He is a cheerful prophet." 
 
 ''You mean that he treats one's whims with 
 immense respect and always sees a great outcome 
 for one's pet scheme." 
 
 " I mean that along with the rest," she laughingly 
 replied. " Good nature is always pleasing, and he 
 says it is very profitable, too." 
 
 " He counts profit in every thing, I believe." 
 
 " Yes, we all do, don't we, to a degree, at least ? 
 
 " Do you ? " he inquired quickly. Unconsciously, 
 perhaps, the question was thrust forward with all the 
 abrupt force of a sudden deep feeling. 
 
 " Oh, I can't afford to dissect myself. I am not an 
 interesting subject," she lightly answered ; " and, 
 besides, my profits have all been very small, thus far." 
 
 "You are interesting to me; I have studied you a 
 great deal," he exclaimed, in a soft undertone. " I 
 would give a great deal to understand you perfectly." 
 
 She stood close beside him, no one else was very 
 near, and the room was filled with the lively murmur 
 
172 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 of the scattered congregation. He stooped a little, 
 and, with his lips close to her ear, said fervently : 
 
 " I love you, love you more than all the world, more 
 than my life." 
 
 She started slightly, and slowly over her face a pallor, 
 just perceptible, crept like a mist, as she moved a full 
 pace away from him. There was a light in her eyes 
 that added infinitely to their expression, but he could 
 not read its meaning. The moment was like a little 
 tragedy to him, so much did he dread the pending result 
 of his rash venture. How small and how great is love ! 
 
 Miss Crabb, as was her custom, interposed herself 
 promptly. She was like a wedge. 
 
 " Let me take a cup of tea with you," she cried ; " I 
 feel like dissipating in a mild fashion this evening, I'm 
 so happy." 
 
 Marian Wilton slipped away. To Milford's troubled 
 imagination her disappearance was ominous — it filled 
 him with a strange fear. It was as if Miss Crabb had 
 banished her. 
 
 Later, when he saw Lawson preparing to walk home 
 with her, the effect upon him was like a vision of utter 
 defeat and despair. It made him accuse himself of 
 weakness and irresolution ; of dallying, while he ought 
 to have striven ; of sentimentalizing, while he ought to 
 have been sternly practical and wisely selfish. Profit, 
 profit, he had not counted the profit. Was it too late ? 
 He went to his bed in a hot fever of excitement and 
 scarcely slept that night. 
 
XII. 
 
 A MURDER trial was an event of unusual interest 
 in Bankersville. The surrounding country ap- 
 peared to precipitate itself into the town. The court- 
 room was crowded day after day as the proceedings of 
 the case slowly struggled up through the objections, 
 motions, arguments and other hindrances artfully inter- 
 polated by the lawyers. The judge, a mild-faced little 
 man, kept his temper by chewing a wooden tooth-pick. 
 
 Young Hempstead, neatly dressed, a trifle emaciated 
 and restless, sat between the great criminal lawyer and 
 a shrewd-faced local attorney, watching the counte- 
 nances of the jury, as if trying to foretell what their 
 verdict would be. 
 
 Wilkins, the father of the murdered boy, sat close 
 behind Milford, turning now and then a resolute, 
 revengeful stare upon the prisoner. 
 
 The jury, ranged in two rows of high-backed chairs, 
 showed unmistakable signs of carrying a great load of 
 responsibility. They were mostly farmers, intelligent 
 and kind-faced, grave, thoughtful, very solemn. 
 
 The hour had arrived for the argument to begin. 
 The large room was packed with an eager audience. 
 Inside the bar, seats had been arranged for a consider- 
 
174 
 
 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 able number of ladies, attracted in the main by the 
 fame of the distinguished advocate who appeared for 
 the defendant. 
 
 Milford came in at the last moment before the court 
 announced that the time had arrived for the opening 
 of the case. He was compelled to make his way 
 between the closely crowded chairs of the ladies. 
 Marian Wilton looked up as he passed and smiled 
 with a little nod of recognition. He bowed gravely, 
 and went on to his seat in front of Wilkins. 
 
 The prosecuting attorney for the circuit arose and 
 addressed the court and the jury. He was a clear- 
 minded man, logical, cold, calm, and his speech was a 
 piece of merciless analysis, setting before the jury all 
 the details of the crime with photographic realism. 
 He seemed to leave no room for a doubt of the pris- 
 oner's guilt in the highest degree. There was no 
 rhetoric in his address ; it was simply a mass of facts, 
 appallingly saturated with murder. He made no 
 appeal for vengeance, indulged in no denunciation of 
 the prisoner, but contented himself with a dark, mi- 
 nutely graphic presentation of the idea involved in the 
 evidence. He did not use an hour in speaking, but 
 when he sat down the hush in the room seemed to tell 
 how he had affected his audience by the force of his 
 rugged realism. It was a full minute before any per- 
 son stirred ; then a slight rustle began somewhere, and 
 ran all over the dense crowd. 
 
A B A NICER OF BANKERSVILLE. 175 
 
 The great advocate now rose, slowly assuming the 
 majestic attitude for which he was noted, looked over 
 the audience with a wonderful expression of pain and 
 sorrow on his face, then with a glance at the Court, he 
 turned and surveyed the jury with a calm, slow, be- 
 seeching look. The twelve faces changed strangely. 
 The prosecutor's speech was already quite forgotten. 
 The superb presence and the consummate acting of 
 the great orator were as eloquent and fascinating as 
 grand beauty and impressive silence ever can be. 
 
 Every ear was strained to catch the first word. 
 Indiana and, indeed, the whole country knows well the 
 magic of that voice which for resonant sweetness, com- 
 pass and flexibility never was surpassed. It is not 
 within the power of mere words to give the effect of 
 its music. The speech was perhaps the most touch- 
 ing and tender, and at the same time the most irre- 
 sistible, eloquent and overpowering ever uttered by 
 that great master of the western bar. It closed with 
 a peroration whose key-note was a plea for the heart- 
 broken mother yearning for her boy, and for the boy 
 himself, who had done the deed in the frenzy of des- 
 peration induced by disappointed love. The jury was 
 in tears, the women were sobbing aloud, and the little 
 judge was chewing his toothpick as if his life de- 
 pended on the vigor of the performance. When the 
 orator sat down, the audience outside the bar broke 
 forth with a roar of applause. Judge and sheriff 
 
176 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 hastened to restore order by threatening to clear th- 
 room. 
 
 Court now adjourned for the noon intermission 
 and Milford's argument was to begin at two o'clock. 
 " Remember what we expect of you," murmured the 
 voice of Marian Wilton, as the young man passed 
 down the broad crowded stairs of the court-house. 
 She was leaning on her father's arm, and her face was 
 flushed and excited. '* This is the turning point of 
 your life," she added ; " you must not fail." 
 
 Dr. Wilton laughed at his daughter's earnestness. 
 ** It is, indeed, a great occasion for you," he said in an 
 explanatory and apologetic tone, " but I hope you 
 don't need Marian's enthusiastic urging to make you 
 feel the opportunity." 
 
 On every side the crowding, jostling people were 
 praising the great advocate's speech in the most ex- 
 travagant terms. 
 
 *'What a grand gift that man's oratory is," Miss 
 Wilton exclaimed ; '* listen how every body is talking 
 about it ! Oh, if I were a man I should never rest 
 until I had won this sort of glory — it is god-like ! " 
 
 "Daughter, daughter, you are too enthusiastic ; you 
 make your statements rather florid," laughingly chided 
 the doctor. '' Your imagination is warmed up." 
 
 " I didn't cry while he was speaking," she quickly 
 responded ; " not that I condemn your being touched 
 to tears, father, but I was too deeply interested, too 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 177 
 
 thoroughly entertained, too conscious of his power to 
 be affected in that way." 
 
 During all this time Milford had not spoken. He 
 was too well aware of the tremendous influence that 
 had gone forth from the speech he had just heard not 
 to feel the weight of his pending duty, and yet he 
 would have preferred one tender glance from Marian 
 Wilton to all the glory he could gain from a victory 
 over the greatest orator of the day, here in his own 
 town, where victory would be so sweet and so valuable. 
 But he could discover nothing in her voice, her words, 
 her manner, beyond the cold wish that he might suc- 
 ceed — a mere professional sympathy, so to speak. 
 
 " You will come back and hear me, won't you ? " he 
 demanded, at last, as they were about to part at the 
 foot of the stairs. " I shall try to do my best.'* 
 
 " Oh, yes, I am coming — -the ladies are all coming. 
 There is a great interest manifested — more than you 
 dream of," she responded. ** You needn't fear that 
 you will be without an expectant audience. Under 
 the surface the larger number of the people is with you. 
 They think you have right and justice on your side." 
 
 It seemed strange to him that she should say this 
 after hearing that strong appeal to her sympathy and 
 her sense of mercy. He wondered if it could be true 
 that she felt no pity for that poor pale youth whose 
 life was hanging by so doubtful a thread. His own 
 pity just then was oppressive. 
 
178 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 During the adjournment of court for the noon hour 
 Milford busied himself with his final preparations, 
 reforming certain parts of his argument and turning 
 over in his mind the plan of its arrangement as a whole. 
 He had overheard a good many remarks as he was 
 pressing through the crowd to get to his office. 
 
 " Him answer that speech ! " said some rural cynic ; 
 " w'y it'll be like a rabbit a-kickin' agin* a mule ! I'm 
 goin* to hear him, though." 
 
 " So*m I, an* possibly a feller might be deceived in 
 him ; he's got a eye like a sparrer hawk's, an* a cool way 
 about him ; there may be a blame sight more in him 
 than ye think fur,** remarked another. 
 
 *' Hang that boy ! *' ejaculated a third, " I'd jest as 
 soon hang a gal." 
 
 "No danger,'* put in another, ''he's just as good as 
 cle*red now. 'T'aint no use a-buckin' agin thunder ; 
 that speech *11 save him." 
 
 Oratory is greatly prized in the West, where its music 
 and passion have not been squeezed out by the pres- 
 sure of so-called culture. Your mere lecturer may 
 please the intellect and fulfill the demands of a pol- 
 ished and refined taste ; but it requires the freedom of 
 sincerity, the abandon of passion and the enthusiasm 
 of human feeling to reach the souls of a Western jury. 
 
 Milford went to his task handicapped. The open- 
 ing of his speech was, in a manner, dry and lifeless, 
 albeit a gradual development of his plan of treating 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 1 79 
 
 the case served to hold the attention of his hearers. 
 His style was fluent rather than eloquent, choice dic- 
 tion serving instead of dramatic force of elocution, and 
 a close observer might have noted a trace of restraint, 
 gradually disappearing as the current of his discourse 
 increased in volume and velocity. At a certain point 
 the audience began to feel his power in a peculiar way ; 
 it was as if his voice had an electrical quality and 
 something more subtle in it that thrilled through the 
 nerves. No one had particularly noticed that at about 
 this time his eyes were turned for a single moment 
 upon Marian Wilton's face, nor could it have been 
 observed that some deep, intense, wistful, wrapt 
 expression in her eyes had fired his brain and stirred 
 his soul into a storm. His face began to beam with 
 the contagious earnestness and heat of sudden inspi- 
 ration and his voice gathered volume and sweetness, 
 flooding the room with its swells and cadences heavy 
 with the dangerous influence of passion. It was not 
 so much what he said as his manner, his voice, his 
 illuminated face, his courageous assaults upon the 
 great advocate's sentimental sophistries. If he lost 
 greatly at the point of mere personal magnetism, he 
 gained all the more from the subtle incisiveness and 
 peculiar charm of his oratory, coupled with his earn- 
 estness, his evident sincerity, and, withal, that nameless 
 influence generated by actual instead of simulated 
 passion, with which he now swept the minds of the 
 
l8o A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 jurors clean of all that had gone before, so that they 
 remembered nothing but what he was doing and 
 saying. At the close he pictured the desolation in 
 the home of the murdered youth, the father's anguish, 
 the mother's despair, the darkened life of the young 
 girl who was to have been his wife, and then he spoke 
 of Justice, whose awful form guards the lives and liber- 
 ties of the citizen. His final words were: 
 
 " Gentlemen of the jury, you are fathers, you have 
 sons, you have daughters. You are here to say what 
 shall be done with him who sets this example of blood- 
 thirsty lawlessness. May your daughter choose her 
 lover? May she signify her choice? Oh, no; the 
 rejected suitor holds the law in his hands. He will 
 murder your neighbor's son if that son be her chosen 
 one. He has murdered your neighbor's son. There 
 sits the old man with the fire of utter anguish burning 
 in his heart. Where is his boy? He lies in a bloody 
 grave in the little church-yard yonder." 
 
 At this point he paused for a single moment to pick 
 up from the table near by the hat of the dead youth, 
 which, with its suggestive bullet-holes and dark, hor- 
 rible stains, had been introduced in testimony. It was 
 like stopping the breath of the audience — the faces of 
 the jury were ghastly. The speaker stood quite still, 
 slowly turning in his hand the silent witness of the 
 assassin's guilt ; but he made no oral reference to it. 
 Suddenly, with his frame dilating and his face emitting 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. l8l 
 
 a flash like a white flame, his voice burst forth in a 
 passionate torrent. 
 
 "Where is Justice? How shall such a crime ^o 
 unpunished ? Ah, gentlemen, Justice has her throne 
 in your hearts, and out from your lips must come her 
 decree. Stand for the law against the law-breaker, 
 stand for the poor murdered boy." Here he rested 
 for a mere breath, still slowly turning the hat. "And 
 against the murderer turn the effect of his heartless 
 cruelty. * Have mercy, mercy, mercy,' wails the dis- 
 tinguished advocate for the defense. It is the false 
 mercy he asks that has made it possible for assassins 
 to hope for light punishment or none at all. Let this 
 prisoner escape the extreme penalty and how short 
 maybe the time until I shall stand before another jury 
 of this county holding in my hand the horrible evi- 
 dence of another assassination ! Heaven forbid — it 
 chills me, it overcomes me to think of it! " His voice 
 thickened and with an almost husky intonation he 
 added : " Which one of you will bury the next victim ? 
 From what mother shall the next wail arise over the 
 lifeless body of her murdered son ? What home 
 shall be darkened next?" He let fall the hat upon 
 the table. " The eyes of God are upon you," he 
 cried, "the scales of Justice are in your hands, 
 the awful power of your responsibility is on your con- 
 sciences, bound by an oath which you can not break, 
 and the facts of this horrible crime are fresh in your 
 
1 82 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 minds. There is but one verdict you can render. 
 The way of the transgressor is hard." He stood quite 
 still for a moment gazing on the bullet-pierced, blood- 
 stained hat. Every juror's eyes were fixed steadily in 
 the same direction. 
 
 " Gentlemen, the case is with you," he said, and sat 
 down. 
 
 The audience, under the spell of this strange spec- 
 tacular argument, kept profoundly silent while the 
 Court read his charge to the jury. Even during this 
 solemn proceeding the eyes of the twelve men wan- 
 dered from the face of the judge to that voiceless but 
 awfully eloquent object on the table. The bullet-- 
 holes in it were the deep, hollow eyes of lawful ven- 
 geance. 
 
 Milford sat with flushed cheeks and throbbing veins 
 until the charge was finished and the jury had retired 
 to their room ; then he rose and walked out of the 
 house. As he went along toward the door he glanced 
 at Marian Wilton. He tried not to do this, but ,how 
 could he resist the feeling of triumph that burned in 
 his blood? He longed to see how she had received 
 his effort. Her face was pale when he turned his head 
 suddenly and looked at her, but when her eyes met 
 his she blushed crimson. Nobody noticed her, how- 
 ever, for the crowd was gazing, fascinated, on the hero 
 of the moment — the young lawyer who had success- 
 fully answered the great advocate's speech. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 1 83 
 
 Milford was glad to get away from this scene into 
 the privacy of his office. He tried to avoid the praises 
 and congratulations of friends, as well as the rude but 
 well-meant remarks of acquaintances from the country. 
 Many persons followed him, even into his office, and 
 actually harassed him with voluble expressions of 
 delight at his great speech. 
 
 ** Oh, of course, they won't hang him," Lawson said, 
 when the jury had been in consultation some hours 
 without a verdict. " I knew you couldn't convict him 
 against such a lawyer as you had to contend with ; but 
 you made your mark, all the same ; you made a good 
 speech, a remarkably good speech." 
 
 " I hope most fervently that they will not put on 
 the extreme penalty," Milford responded ; " I fear that 
 would be too hard, considering his youth and all the 
 surrounding circumstances." 
 
 " He'd better be hanged than go to the peniten- 
 tiary," Lawson exclaimed, almost gruffly. " What's 
 life after the stripes are on ? " 
 
 " He's young, he might reform and go off to where 
 he is not known, and — " 
 
 " Hell ! " ejaculated Lawson, springing to his feet 
 and beginning to walk the floor. " They don't 
 reform. Their infamy follows them like a shadow — a 
 dark, demoniac ghost ! It is hell, hell ! " 
 
 Milford looked at him wonderingly, seeing no occa- 
 sion for his excited manner and voice, and unable to 
 
1 84 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 understand the bitterness of his words; his phrases 
 had a personal ring. 
 
 Just then the great bell sounded up in the steeple 
 of the court-house. It was the announcement that the 
 jury had agreed, and that the court would convene at 
 once to receive the verdict. 
 
 Milford sprang to his feet. 
 
 *'They have acquitted him, I bet," said Lawson. 
 
 ** I hope so," said Milford ; ** or, rather, I hope it is a 
 lighter verdict than death." 
 
 " It will give you a back-set," said Lawson. 
 
 Although it was now after nightfall, the lingering 
 crowd filled the court-room at once, and waited breath- 
 lessly until the prisoner could be fetched from the jail. 
 The judge looked uneasily solemn. The sheriff called 
 the roll of the jury, each member answering when his 
 name was spoken. 
 
 ** Gentlemen, have you agreed upon a verdict?" 
 inquired the judge. 
 
 *'Yes, sir, we have," promptly responded the fore- 
 man, rising and handing a bit of paper to the sheriff, 
 who passed it to the judge. 
 
 The prisoner, whose pale, wistful, almost waxen face, 
 showed the harrowing nature of the ordeal through 
 which he had been passing, trembled and fixed a 
 faltering gaze upon the slip, as the judge unfolded it. 
 The verdict was "guilty" and ''death." It was 
 evidently a startling surprise to the judge, as well as to 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 1 85 
 
 the prisoner and his counsel, for they all seemed equally 
 affected. If any difference could have been noted, 
 perhaps the face of the great criminal lawyer might 
 have been declared the most pallid of all, as he involun- 
 tarily cast a glance at his youthful and unfortunate 
 client. 
 
 With a strangely mechanical motion the crowd, after 
 a space of gaping silence, moved out into the street, 
 without observing that young Hempstead's mother 
 had tottered forward and flung herself upon her 
 doomed boy with a succession of low, broken wails. 
 
 Milford hurried from the room, followed by Wilkins, 
 the father of the murdered youth. 
 
 " I'm satisfied now," the old man muttered, seizing 
 the lawyer's arm with the clutch of a giant ; *' you 
 done 'im up in particular good style, Mr. Milford ; he's 
 got to hang now. I'm mighty much ableeged to ye 
 till ye*r better paid. I'll come in to-morrer mornin' 
 and fetch yer money. You've yearnt it if any man 
 ever did. You've worked hard for your fee." 
 
 Milford finally shook him off, as one might shake off 
 some suffocating spell or some hideous incubus. 
 
 And so the great trial was over, but for days and 
 nights together the phrases: "You done *im up," and 
 "You've worked hard for your fee," rang in Milford's 
 ears with a persistency almost unbearably exas- 
 perating. 
 
XIII. 
 
 AFTER the little judge had pronounced sentence 
 of death upon Billy Hempstead, Bankersville 
 settled down again to the " business of flourishing," as 
 Downs expressed it. The day for the execution was 
 set forward more than three months, and, although the 
 dark event now and then projected a shadow, the 
 gayety of the season was something without precedent 
 in Bankersville society. 
 
 The lawyers for the defense had promptly taken the 
 case to the Supreme Court, on appeal, but the judgment 
 below had been afBrmed quite as promptly, so that 
 now, nothing, save an act of executive discretion on 
 the part of the Governor of the State, could save the 
 prisoner from the ignominious death to which he had 
 been condemned. 
 
 About this time, Mrs. Goodword, known far and 
 wide as the Woman Evangelist, came to Bankersville to 
 begin a religious revival. She was a person of great 
 energy and tact, full of enthusiasm, a voluble and sen- 
 timental talker, and shrewdly cognizant of the weakest 
 points of human nature. She came, too, with the pres- 
 tige of great works performed at Wahoo, and Vandalia, 
 and Kalamazoo, and Lignumvitse and Kokomo, and 
 
A BA NKER OF BA NA'ERS VILLE. 3 8 7 
 
 aided by the favorable, though ofttimes humorous, 
 comments of the newspapers. 
 
 " Seems like every thing excitin' and uncommon was 
 comin' all at once," said Downs one day at dinner; 
 *' this here's the best stuffed chicken I ever tasted ; real- 
 estate is jest a-boomin' ; there's a dance every night ; 
 we're goin* to have a hangin' next month, and that 
 woman has got her revival red hot an* still a heatin*, 
 to say nothin' of cryin* sales, an* gittin* married *fore 
 long ! " He glanced slyly at Mrs. O'Slaughtery as he 
 finished this speech. 
 
 " As to the marryin' part, Misther Downs, ye moight 
 
 be desaved intoirely. I've known min " here she 
 
 paused to correct her pronunciation and accent — " I 
 have seen men take on in a terrible way when a woman 
 chanced to change her moind — her mind, in a little 
 matter like choosing a husband, so I have." 
 
 "They do say," exclaimed Downs, "that, next to 
 the toothache, a broken heart is the saddest ailment a 
 body can have ; clove oil an' chloroform mixed and 
 well shook is the only remedy." 
 
 " I'm impressed with the opinion that you*d better 
 be a kaypin* a leetle bit of that same midicine in yer 
 pocket all the toime, for ye moight nayd it any 
 minute as a quick relief for a suddint attack," she 
 replied, with a merry laugh. 
 
 It was now late in summer, — the season usually 
 devoted by Western people to picnics, excursions to 
 
1 88 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 the Northern lakes, and sometimes to a sojourn at 
 some watering-place on the Atlantic coast ; but Mrs. 
 Goodword's revival had been affording excitement 
 and interest enough at home to keep the residents of 
 Bankersville thoroughly forgetful of Petoskey and 
 Green Bay, West Baden Springs and Ocean Grove. 
 The dancing parties were no more, picnics had lost 
 their charm ; even the delightful church social had 
 been neglected for the more stimulating meetings of 
 the fair evangelist. In fact, Mrs. Goodword had no 
 rivals left in the field excepting the man with the 
 roller-skating rink and the managers of the county 
 fair, unless indeed the hangman, with the awful specter 
 of a gallows in the background, should be considered. 
 True, the bicycle club glided out of town on Tuesday 
 and Friday afternoons, going away on silent wheels for 
 quiet whirls in the country lanes between the orchards 
 and the stubblefields ; but there was less racing talk, 
 and the captain of the club had suddenly quit smok- 
 ing and saying " by Jinks " in company. 
 
 Lawson was conspicuous just now as the only man 
 in Bankersville who drove a pair of very fast horses : 
 matched bays they were — valued at four thousand dol- 
 lars : high steppers with small heads, large eyes, and 
 flexible nostrils, and yet as gentle as kittens. He took 
 no notice of Mrs. Goodword's meetings, being very 
 busy with a secret financial scheme, of which not even 
 McGinnis was allowed to know any thing. Of late, the 
 
4 BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 189 
 
 j/'oung men of Bankersville's best society had been 
 whispering among themselves that Lawson was at 
 times drinking hard and indulging in other dangerous 
 dissipations. As is generally the case, this rumor did 
 not become public, for all these young men were Law- 
 son's friends, and he was a jolly fellow: liberal, free- 
 hearted, the very life of their mild social orgies. 
 
 Milford was called away into the South soon after 
 the trial, on account of some pine lands belonging to 
 his father's estate. There had been a sudden and very 
 great rise in the price of these lands on account of a 
 railroad which had just been built across them. In 
 fact, the estate, hitherto almost worthless, was now, 
 thanks to its pine forests, quite valuable. 
 
 It was a relief to him to get away from Bankersville 
 at this particular time, for, struggle against it as he 
 would, a sense of depression lingered in his mind, and 
 vaguely enough he was continually accusing himself of 
 using unfair means to compass young Hempstead's 
 conviction. The strangest part of all this was that he 
 involuntarily connected Marian Wilton with this 
 thought, although he resented it as often as it arose. 
 His success in the trial had not made him famous, as 
 some enthusiastic persons had predicted ; the victory 
 being tacitly if not openly attributed to a public prej- 
 udice against the prisoner, rather than to any clever- 
 ness exhibited by counsel for the prosecution. 
 
 He did not call on Miss Wilton before starting on 
 
ipo A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 his southward journey. It suited his mood to hold in 
 his heart unchanged that look her eyes had given him 
 while he was addressing the jury, the look which it 
 now seemed to him had sealed the young prisoner's 
 death-warrant. It pleased him to imagine that, for a 
 short space of time at least, he had touched the lowest 
 well-springs of her feeling. He wondered if she had 
 noticed how suddenly and fully he had responded to 
 her mute appeal with that terrible assault upon the 
 accused, and how here and there in the substance of 
 his speech appeared the suggestions she had given him 
 from time to time. In some obscure way he was con- 
 scious of having put aside for her certain qualms and 
 doubts, and he hoped that she had not noticed his 
 weakness. He even tried to get a kind of satisfaction 
 out of the thought that, of all the world, no one but 
 her could have influenced him in that way. At the 
 root of all this, perhaps, was the half-smothered belief 
 that she loved Lawson, and yet this hardly seemed 
 possible. How could she love such a man ? 
 
 It was during Milford's stay in the South that his 
 novel, a work into which he had put a great deal of 
 himself, came out from the press of a strong publishing- 
 house in New York and was received by the critics 
 with genuine broadsides of praise. It was an anony- 
 mous book, its author's name being securely withheld 
 from the public, the publishers shrewdly availing them- 
 selves of the popular curiosity. The newspapers and 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 191 
 
 literary journals joined in making it the novel of the 
 season, and a number of the foremost novelists of the 
 world were compelled to deny having written it. In 
 fact, there seemed no end to the ways in which it was 
 kept afloat on popular attention. All this failed to 
 impress Milfordashe had once thought sudden literary 
 success would be sure to do, and when he traced the 
 failure to its source he found Marian Wilton. She 
 would not sympathize with his triumph, no matter how 
 great, brought about by the quiet and impersonal 
 methods of mere art ; her ideal was the great individ- 
 ual, the overbearing personality driving men before it 
 and compassing its purposes by the sensational drama- 
 tic lift of oratory and by the force of a master's will. 
 She would prefer the plaudits of the crowd at the ros- 
 trum to all the well-balanced praises of the critics. He 
 recalled with vivid distinctness her estimate of Arthur 
 Selby ; how she had compared his insignificance of 
 personal force with the magnetic bearing of certain 
 famous orators and statesmen, maintaining in her calm 
 yet really vehement way, that art is debilitating, as 
 practiced now, having nothing in it that appeals to the 
 heroic part of man's or woman's nature — mere play, 
 indeed. 
 
 *' There are no more Homers, Dantes, Miltons," 
 she had said; "in their places we have Arthur Selbys 
 and the analysts — pigmies with needles and micro- 
 scopes, delighting themselves with what they call dis- 
 
192 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 seating human motives — a small business, even for 
 small men." 
 
 This criticism now seemed to him peculiarly effec- 
 tive, as it shone forward over his own novel, which 
 was nothing if not analytical in its scope and purpose. 
 As most writers do at times, he felt the slightness 
 and lightness of his work, and wondered if indeed 
 Marian Wilton had foreseen what it would be. He 
 had all the provincial's self-consciousness and was 
 inclined to look upon his literary ambition as some- 
 thing vastly important ; and yet, now that success 
 had crowned his first book, he was faltering and hesi- 
 tating to accept as worthy of his manhood the meed 
 of the fiction-maker. He was almost aware, all the 
 time, that it was scarcely his own nature out of which 
 these doubts and this lack of faith arose. Her pref- 
 erences, even her prejudices, were very dear to him 
 and very potent in their effect upon his judgment 
 and even his conscience. 
 
 As he traveled southward and the miles lengthened 
 between them, he began to feel that his distance from 
 her was immeasurable in both the physical and spir- 
 itual sense, and that by the time he could return to 
 her she would be lost to him forever. He even went 
 so far as to envy Lawson the luck that had cast an 
 unearned fortune upon him, and then he turned upon 
 himself and wondered how he had grown to be so 
 commonplace and so groveling in his thoughts. When 
 
A BANKER OF BAiYKERSVILLE. 1 93 
 
 love gets in, all else goes out, and when love is baffled, 
 life becomes a dreary, monotonous labyrinth of doubt 
 and discouragement, which not even the light of 
 worldly success and personal achievement can make 
 bearable. Looking back over his life, it appeared to 
 him that fate had been against him, turning his victories 
 into defeat and forestalling every purpose before it 
 ripened. During his stay in the South, lengthened as 
 it was by difficulty in negotiating the sale of the lands, 
 he had no word from any one in Bankersville. Fool- 
 ishly enough, perhaps, he wrote Marian Wilton a long 
 letter ; this was towards the end of his stay and at a 
 time when he had grown almost unbearably impatient 
 to return to the scenes her presence had made holy to 
 him. The letter was full of love, and yet it did not 
 say love, carrying in its words and phrases and between 
 them that passionate suppression of passion which 
 often proves more fascinating to a woman than the 
 most direct and enthusiastic protestations of devotion 
 could possibly be. 
 
 Miiford's few surviving relatives and old acquaint- 
 ances down South received him cordially enough, and 
 yet he fancied that they felt a sort of stain attaching 
 to him, on account of his abandonment of the lost 
 cause, which rendered contact with him a thing to be 
 furtively deplored. They seemed to think that he had 
 prospered wonderfully, was rich, in fact, and that his 
 prosperity was in some direct connection with his un- 
 
194 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 faithfulness to his so-called country and to the tradi- 
 tions of his ancestors. 
 
 Milford exaggerated the strength of these prejudices, 
 no doubt ; still they existed and could not have been 
 ignored under even the most favorable circumstances. 
 In his peculiar situation, remembering that in the North 
 his " rebel record," as it was called, had been a constant 
 source of annoyance to him, he was doubly sensitive to 
 this coolness toward him amongst his Southern ac- 
 quaintances and former associates, on the ground that 
 he had sympathized with the enemies of the Con- 
 federacy. 
 
 It was not until after he had started back to Bankers- 
 ville that the thought suddenly came into his mind : 
 " I shall arrive but a few days before the time set for 
 the execution of young Hempstead ! " 
 
 At first he seriously considered dallying at some 
 point on the way until after the day, but the desire to 
 get near Marian Wilton overcame every other and he 
 hurried on. To say the full truth, he was very impa- 
 tient to arrive : so much so, indeed, that the rushing, 
 clanging cars, as they whirled him northward, seemed 
 to him as slow as snails on the road, and as willfully dil- 
 atory as possible at all the stations. Now and again 
 he turned upon himself and inquired why he should be 
 so eager to reach a journey's end where nothing but 
 disappointment awaited him ; but he did not answer, 
 save by growing still more impatient of momentary 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 1 95 
 
 delays. Her face haunted him as nothing else in the 
 world can haunt a man ; but, try as he would, he could 
 not imagine it wearing any other look than the one 
 that had filled him with a sudden inspiration on the 
 day of the trial, when his speech was at the point of 
 ending in mediocrity, or worse. It thrilled him, even 
 at this distance, to remember how he had risen to the 
 height of dramatic energy at her silent bidding. Then 
 always the thought would come that he had overrid- 
 den his conscience and sacrificed something that he 
 had prized very much, for her and yet for naught. Was 
 it for naught ? Did she really care nothing for him ? 
 What a fool he had been not to press his claim — not to 
 urge his suit — not to besiege her with all the force of 
 his true and deep passion ! He would do it yet : she 
 should not escape the great happiness that such love 
 as his could bring her. Love in a man rarely takes the 
 form of utter unselfishness, but now he thought only 
 of her, not of himself at all. 
 
 He reached Bankersville after nightfall. It was the 
 full moon in August, and the beautiful little city lay 
 dreaming in the mellow light, its church-spires show- 
 ing keen and clear against a cloudless sky. The valley 
 of the Wabash, with its bottom lands all agleam, and 
 its river, wide and placid, winding away between scat- 
 tered fringes of plane-trees, looked more beautiful than 
 ever before. Duskily the maple-trees over-hung the 
 sidewalks of the streets and the blue-grass on the lawns 
 
196 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 looked almost black. He went to a hotel, not caring 
 to disturb his good Irish landlady at such an hour, 
 though, for that matter, it was not ten yet and many 
 loungers were about in the streets. 
 
 In the hotel reading-room some commercial travelers 
 were discussing the subject of township bonds in a 
 rather excited way, but Milford gave no direct atten- 
 tion to their talk. By degrees, however, he gathered 
 that a fraud in these bonds had been perpetrated all 
 over the state : a fraud the mystery of which had not 
 yet been unraveled. 
 
 " There's no saying where it'll stop,'* remarked one 
 of the men. " It will probably run up into the millions ; 
 there never was such a financial breeze in this state ; 
 the credit of our civil townships is utterly ruined. It is 
 doing a heap of harm." 
 
 "Originated in Chicago, didn't it? " 
 
 "Don't know — school-furniture dealers seem to be 
 mixed up in it." 
 
 " Yes, fraudulent contracts for fabulous amounts of 
 desks, chairs, tables and all that. Blarney and boodle, 
 you know." 
 
 " There's a deep old head somewhere at the 
 bottom. No common fellow thought out the bold 
 scheme." 
 
 "You bet; it takes intellect to set up such a job. 
 Somebody's getting wealthy by lowering the record. 
 Wish I had ten per cent, of the gross earnings." 
 
A BANKER OF BANTERSVILLE, 1 97 
 
 " Oh, Canada's too frigid ; I don't think I could stand 
 the cHmate." 
 
 " Money is a very warming thing. It makes Canada 
 as salubrious as Florida." 
 
 " So's the penitentiary." 
 
 "Yes, but it's getting to be aristocratic, just the 
 thing, don't you know, to spend a season with the 
 bank presidents and retired railroad officials." 
 
 " They do say that it's got so that when a man from 
 the states arrives in Toronto or Montreal, the first 
 thing the hotel clerk says to *im is : ' Can you beat 
 extradition ? ' same as to say : ' Is your crime below 
 the grade for which you can be taken back on a 
 requisition?' It's got to a high pass, and some- 
 thing's got to be done to stop it." 
 
 " Yes, those Canadians ought to be made to treat 
 tourists with more respect. It's ridiculous to have 
 our able financiers bullied so ! " 
 
 Milford heard this dialogue, as if from a great 
 distance, and while its facts fastened themselves in 
 his mind, the subject discussed was of no interest to 
 him. Little he cared just then for the financial 
 status of Indiana's civil or school townships. The 
 bonds might go for naught, for all he was concerned 
 in them. He had lighted a cigar and was sitting by a 
 window. His hat was drawn low over his eyes, while 
 he gave himself over to what had become the whole 
 interest of his life. He was aware before he glanced 
 
198 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Up that Lawson had entered the room, but he was sur- 
 prised when he saw that a miserable, dissolute-looking 
 old man was holding on to his arm and gazing wist- 
 fully up into his face. Lawson started perceptibly 
 when he saw Milford, but he quickly rallied and shook 
 off his disreputable-looking companion long enough 
 to step forward and offer his hand with cordial greet- 
 ing. 
 
 " Glad to see you,*' he exclaimed ; "hope you had a 
 good time in Dixie and made business all right. 
 How've you been ? " 
 
 He did not wait to hear Milford's response, but 
 turned at once and took the old man by the arm 
 almost roughly. 
 
 " Come up to my apartment," he said, and they 
 appeared to precipitate themselves out of the room. 
 
XIV. 
 
 ^^ TTrHAT did you come here for?" inquired Law- 
 VV son, in a voice at once petulant and, so to 
 speak, brutally respectful, as he thrust the little old 
 man through the doorway of his room and followed 
 him. " Why didn't you go away somewhere and 
 write to me?" He turned and shut the door, locking 
 it and taking out the key, as if every thing depended 
 upon a strictly private interview. His face was red 
 with excitement. " Have you told anyone here who 
 you are? " 
 
 **No, I haven't told — I didn't know where to go or 
 what to do. I felt sort of lost and lonely, and I 
 hadn't any body to go to but you," said the old man, 
 leering half affectionately at Lawson and nervously 
 handling his hat. *' I needed help." 
 
 " How — how did you — how came you out ? " stam- 
 meringly demanded Lawson. 
 
 *' Good behavior — they allowed me a year for that ; I 
 was the best one in the — I was the best one they had, 
 they said." 
 
 The deeply-furrowed face took on a look of pathetic 
 inquiry, as if asking for sympathy and wondering if it 
 would get it. 
 
2 00 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 "How did you get here? Who sent you to me?" 
 Lawson asked. 
 
 " They gave me some money when they let me out. 
 I knew you were here. They kept me posted." 
 
 *' It's a wrong move — very unfortunate. You must 
 go away at once." The young man paused and con- 
 tracted his brows in wretched perplexity. " It would 
 ruin me if the people here should find it out. I'm 
 on the point of ruin as it is." He was speaking 
 half in soliloquy. After a long silence, during 
 which he gazed abstractedly into the old man's 
 rheumy eyes, he exclaimed with sudden force : " You 
 must start to Canada on the first train. There's 
 another indictment against you; don't you remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 " But it's been so long," the old man appealingly 
 quavered, " do you think they'd push me on that ? " 
 
 " Push you on it ! " cried Lawson ; " they'll hound 
 you to the country's end. How have you escaped 
 them even this long? Oh, there's not a moment to 
 lose ! " He was actually trembling and his lips were 
 
 blue. ** I couldn't bear a thing of that sort — no " 
 
 Again he paused. " Oh, the infernal luck ! Why 
 couldn't you have gone to Canada and have written 
 me from there? It'll be sure to leak out that you've 
 been here." 
 
 "Don't you suppose they'll let me alone, now?" 
 the old man whined. " I've been in the — in there so 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 20 1 
 
 long, and I'm old and, and — and weary; they'd ought 
 to let me rest now." 
 
 Lawson shuddered, and turning av/ay walked back 
 and forth, his face scowling and livid, his foot- 
 falls shaking the floor with their weight. 
 
 " My son — my dear boy," the old man faltered in 
 beseeching accents. 
 
 **Hush!" cried Lawson, in a stormy half whisper. 
 " Don't use — don't say — don't you know you'll be 
 overheard, and then I'm ruined forever I Can't you 
 hold your tongue ! " 
 
 The father sank into a chair and the son stood glar- 
 ing at him, as if about to spring upon him. 
 
 " If you don't want me I'll go away ; I don't want 
 to have you suffer on my account," said the old man, 
 in a dry, husky voice, " but I don't think they'll want 
 to do any thing more with me. They told me to go 
 and do right and I needn't fear. They said I suffered 
 enough." 
 
 *' Who told you that ? " 
 
 " They told me up at the pen — at the — up there, 
 you know, where they had me." 
 
 " What does that amount to ? What have they got 
 to do with it? It's the men you — you injured whom 
 you have to fear; they didn't say you could go and 
 sin no more." He paused abruptly and snapped his 
 finger and thumb together savagely. Presently he 
 went on to say : " Besides, what does it matter ? 
 
202 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Your presence here would ruin me, ruin me. It would 
 precipitate — no, it's no use to talk, you'll have to go, 
 to-night, right now, before any body gets suspicious 
 and begins to inquire and ask questions. I'll give you 
 money enough to take you to Canada and then I'll 
 send you all you need." 
 
 "Yes, you'd ought to do that; it's nothing but 
 what's right, considering that I'm your fath — " 
 
 "Hush! Hell! can't you understand any thing? 
 Do you want to tell every body ? Are you crazy ? " 
 
 " No, no, no ; I forgot. I'll do whatever you say ; 
 it ain't much matter about me, any way, I suppose, 
 so's I'm let alone and — don't have to go back to the— 
 to — go back there where I was. Oh, Chester, I 
 couldn't stand another day, not another day of that 
 horrid life ; it would make me crazy — it would kill 
 me ! " The withered, sunken face was lifted appeal- 
 ingly, and the shriveled lips writhed. 
 
 " Well, you shan't go back, I'll see to that ; but you 
 mustn't stay here. The first north-bound train goes 
 at half-past twelve ; you must leave on that." He 
 consulted his watch. " It's an hour and a half to the 
 time." 
 
 "Yes, I'll go," said the father, forlornly fumbling in 
 his coat-pocket; "but I'm terribly tired and sleepy." 
 He drew out a soiled red-cotton handkerchief and 
 tremblingly wiped his eyes. " If I could just only 
 stay with you one night, Chester — " 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 203 
 
 " No," interrupted Lawson, " not for the world ; 
 I'd rather die every minute for a year. You don't 
 understand how I am situated, or how your presence 
 would destroy me, but I do. No, you must go. I'll 
 put you in a sleeping-car — you'll be comfortable." 
 
 " Yes, you'd ought to fix me comfortably ; I'm your 
 — well, well, it's all right, I s'pose; I forget so easily. 
 Somehow the whole world seems dim and strange 
 since I got out. I don't feel right ; my head seems 
 light." 
 
 Lawson remained silent : his eyes bent on the floor, 
 his brows drawn together. 
 
 The old man looked over his son from head to foot. 
 with a mild interest lighting his face. 
 
 ** You're so healthy-looking, so very broad, and tall, 
 and stout, Chester," he said, with a trace of pride in 
 his voice, " and look so much like your mother did." 
 He mused awhile before he added : " They told me 
 she got a divorce from me and married again before 
 she died. I don't know — " 
 
 Lawson suddenly stretched forth one of his hands, 
 as if to close the old man's mouth, and exclaimed: 
 
 " For heaven's sake, stop ! Haven't I told you that 
 this talking won't do ? " He began walking the floor 
 again, with his hands clasped over the back of his neck, 
 his heavy head hanging forward on his chest. 
 
 "You and I are all that's left of the family, Chester; 
 just you and I," the old man remarked, presently, in a 
 
204 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 retrospective voice ; " and it looks as if we ought to 
 stay close together. The world is so big to be all 
 alone in." He shrugged his narrow, tapering shoul- 
 ders and shivered, like one in a draught of chilly air. 
 " But then, we can't keep together, I s'pose, if it would 
 do you such great harm. I'll go ; it's right that I 
 should." 
 
 *' Yes, it*s right/* said Lawson. " It's the only safe 
 thing for you and for me," He looked at his watch 
 again impatiently, then continued walking heavily and 
 slowly back and forth. 
 
 '' I oughtn't to have come, I reckon," the father 
 murmured, " but I couldn't see what else to do. 
 They didn't give me much money — it wouldn't last 
 long ; but it's all the same anyhow, if I go off to — 
 where did you say I must go to ? " 
 
 "Canada; stop at any little town up there and 
 write to me. I'll send you plenty of money." 
 
 " Yes, I will go— I'll write." 
 
 Lawson went to a little round table and took from 
 under a crimson cloth a tall black bottle labeled 
 Cognac, and a small glass goblet. He poured a liberal 
 draught of liquor; its pungent fragrance filled the 
 room. The old man's eyes glittered. 
 
 " Drink this," said Lawson, offering his father the 
 glass ; *' it will strengthen you. It is brandy." 
 
 The bony little hands clutched it, and the weak, 
 tremulous lips eagerly drank it dry. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 205 
 
 Lawson swallowed a glass-full of this brandy with 
 scarcely less show of thirst. 
 
 " It does help me," said the old man, straightening 
 himself in his chair. " I feel a good deal better 
 already. It's good brandy." 
 
 Lawson looked at his watch once more and said : 
 
 *' It's about time to go. Now listen. You mustn't 
 say a word to me between here and the depot, and you 
 must pay strict attention to what I tell you to do. Do 
 you understand ? " 
 
 '^ Yes." 
 
 *' Well, come on." He took hold of his father's 
 arm. A half-hour later the old man was in a sleeping- 
 car. His ticket was to Detroit, and he had a consider- 
 able sum of money with which to go into Canada. 
 
 Lawson breathed freer as he walked back to the 
 hotel, but his relief was of a sort far from comforting. 
 To say that the sudden appearance of his father at 
 Bankersville, without the slightest warning in advance, 
 had been startling, would be understatement. The 
 apparition of that disheveled and forlorn old man was 
 more terrible than a vision of Death with his scythe. 
 
 Eighteen years in a penitentiary! The record was 
 written all over that sunken face and shriveled frame. 
 What dissipation is so terrible in its effect as the 
 debauchery of remorse? 
 
 Lawson went into his room in a dark enough mood. 
 Lately, every thing had been going wrong with him. 
 
2o6 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Many of his investments had failed, and luck seemed 
 to be setting hard and strong against him from all 
 sides. Just now he was in the midst of a desperate 
 struggle to save himself financially : a struggle that 
 involved him in a web of transactions, which, if his 
 connection with them were made public, would ruin 
 him. For all this, however, he had ample nerve, and 
 the fascination of so extensive and dangerous an 
 undertaking intoxicated him, to a degree, and 
 numbed his sense of fear. But another thing was 
 weighing upon him and tearing up the lowest depths 
 of his feeling. He loved Marian Wilton with such 
 passionate abandon as is characteristic of a nature like 
 his ; and of late he had been pressing his suit to the 
 point where always the bitterest or the most precious 
 increment is added to one's life. She had evaded him 
 thus far, by those charmingly annoying turns practiced 
 by young women who waver between respect for a 
 father's preferences and the promptings of the old 
 young dream of love. 
 
 Dr. Wilton, with the blindness so often observable 
 in excellent men, favored Lawson's aspirations, and 
 occasionally mildly suggested to Marian the many 
 advantages of the union if it should be consummated. 
 As to her, she found Lawson very agreeable, charm- 
 ing, in many respects, but all the time she felt that 
 he lacked something, she knew not what, of coming 
 up to her standard. No man could be more polite, 
 
A BANKER OF BANKEKSVILLE. 207 
 
 more kind, more eager to serve her every whim, and 
 yet he repelled her finest feelings in some obscure way ; 
 it was as if her intuitions recoiled from a glimpse, now 
 and then indirectly caught, of that vulgarity and 
 moral coarseness which lay at the base of his soul. 
 His success had been so meteor-like and had made 
 such a fine spectacular effect in the Bankersville sky, 
 that it was impossible for her not to recognize, or at 
 least fancy she could recognize, something remarkable 
 in his character. Of course, she knew almost nothing 
 of his methods, or of the controlling element of mere 
 chance that had done so much, if not quite all, for him 
 in his dazzling exploits. Like all the rest, she saw 
 only the surface results of his daring ventures, supple- 
 mented by what appeared to be a most unselfish gen- 
 erosity of spirit. The rumors now and then furtively 
 set afloat in the streets impugning the honesty of his 
 operations, had never reached her, nor had she ever 
 noted in his conduct any thing, however slight, indic- 
 ative of unworthy motives ; and yet while in his pres- 
 ence she was half aware that he was repressing some- 
 thing, that he was all the time watchful, lest a secret 
 of his inner life should leap into the light and betray 
 his other and hidden self. 
 
 It vexed and exasperated Lawson to see Milford 
 return to Bankersville just at this time. He felt that 
 it boded evil to him — a check, a hindrance, if not a 
 positive end to his tenderest hopes. 
 
2o8 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 All night he dreamed, awake or asleep, of what he 
 would do to-morrow — how he would go to Marian 
 Wilton and urge her to answer him before Milford 
 could have time to interfere. He tossed in his bed 
 and revolved a wild plan for getting together all his 
 available means and of persuading Marian to consent 
 to a hasty marriage and a swift flight to Europe. 
 Schemes which seemed entirely feasible to him in the 
 long, hot spaces between his snatches of sleep, fell 
 into impracticable confusion when day-light came, and 
 the noise of busy life arose in the street under his 
 windows. 
 
 The morning papers contained two matters very 
 unwelcome to Lawson's eyes: a sudden decline in the 
 price of wheat, and what appeared to be the begin- 
 ning of a full unravelment of the fraudulent school- 
 furniture bonds of the Indiana townships ; but start- 
 ling as these things were, a line or two in the Scar 
 drove them out of his mind. It was an editorial sen- 
 tence, a mere interrogation, without comment or 
 further remark, as follows ; 
 
 •* Who was the shabby, suspicious-looking old man 
 who tackled Mr. Chester Lawson so unexpectedly on 
 yesterday afternoon ? " 
 
 He glared at the paragraph in a paroxysm of rage, 
 but the considerations that came crowding into his 
 brain soon beat down his wrath. This was no matter 
 about which he could afford a public quarrel. Evidently 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLB. 209 
 
 the editor of the Scar was close upon the track of his 
 past history, and one misstep, though the shortest ever 
 made, might precipitate exposure. What a coward is 
 he who guards a secret ! 
 
 Lawson felt that promptness and perfect self-control 
 might serve his turn ; so, with a smiling face, he went 
 into the editorial ofHce of the Scar, 
 
 " Hello ! good morning, Mr. Lawson," exclaimed 
 the editor, jumping up and coming forward to meet 
 him ; " come up to black my eye for referring to your 
 interview with that tragic old cuss? Who the devil 
 was he, anyhow? Never saw a man so astonished as 
 you appeared to be, about that time." 
 
 " I think you would be astonished, too, under the 
 same circumstances," said Lawson, fixing his eyes 
 steadily on those of the editor and smiling in the most 
 cordial way. *' Think of an old tramp like that flying 
 at you and trying to hug you and kiss you, right there 
 in the open street ! " 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed the editor ; *' ha, ha! it was 
 just too funny! Who was he? " 
 
 " Ask some one who knows," said Lawson, begin- 
 ning to feel easy ; " he was as strange as Adam to me. 
 I never saw him before in my life. He took me 
 thoroughly unawares and upset me strangely. I never 
 was so put out and embarrassed." 
 
 " And what became of him? " 
 
 " Don't know ; evaporated I hope," 
 
2IO A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 There was a curious look lurking in the editor's eyes 
 that Lawson did not quite like, but the interview, upon 
 the whole, was rather reassuring. Evidently it was 
 mere suspicion of some vulgar secret, if the editor 
 really was harboring a thought of any thing not yet 
 divulged in the matter. 
 
 " Well, it was a ridiculous spectacle for your eyes, 
 no doubt," Lawson remarked, as he finally rose to go ; 
 *'but it had a touch of tragedy in it, to my mind. The 
 old fellow looked startlingly pathetic and his voice was 
 so strangely, beseechingly insistent." He offered the 
 editor a dark, costly cigar, and added : ** We'll end the 
 matter in smoke." 
 
 All this, when Lawson was gone, struck the editor 
 as rather peculiar, especially in view of the fact that a 
 policeman who reported news items for the Scar had 
 told him that the old man in question had been put 
 into a sleeping-car by Lawson and sent northward on 
 the night-express train. 
 
 It may be set down as a fact that something is 
 required more substantial and binding than a Havana 
 cigar, no matter how good, to bribe a country editor 
 when he scents a local scandal or a bit of mysterious 
 personal news. Not that he will refuse the cigar — the 
 chances are large that he will not — but it must be 
 remembered that the press is no respecter of persons, 
 it must give the news with utter impartiality. 
 
 The Scar editor sat for a long while, leaning far 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 211 
 
 back in his chair, with his feet on the sanctum table, 
 smoking that delicious Cuban niadiiro and meditating 
 the probabilities of working up a sensation. It was 
 very plain to him that Lawson had not told the truth, 
 and that there was a mystery of no common sort con- 
 nected with the coming and the going away of that 
 peculiarly-dressed, hungry-faced old man. At all 
 events he thought it a good thing to investigate 
 further, and that it might serve him a valuable turn to 
 seem to know more than he really did, so he set to 
 work in earnest with a pretty clear purpose in view. 
 
 Meantime Lawson had hurried away to see McGin- 
 nis, who was thoroughly involved in the same financial 
 web which the young man felt drawing so tightly 
 around him. Something must be done at once or the 
 worst must befall. But not even McGinnis dreamed 
 of the desperate extremes to which Lawson had gone, 
 or of the wide sweep of his liabilities ; much less did 
 the shrewd-minded banker suspect the young man's 
 connection with the township frauds. 
 
 If Lawson should fail, it would come upon Bankers- 
 ville like a thunderbolt out of the sun. Nearly every 
 business man in the little city had money in the young 
 speculator's hands, for one purpose or another, and 
 not one of them felt the least uneasiness in that regard. 
 It is strange how slow men are in the matter of sus- 
 pecting those who should be suspected, and how swift 
 to doubt those whom it is base injustice not to trust. 
 
212 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 The man who starts with luck in his favor finds the 
 breeze of public sympathy blowing him on long after 
 his own forces have failed. Lawson had had some 
 exceptional advantages in this regard. McGinnis had 
 been a wall of strength to him ; and then it is so seldom 
 that a citizen of a small city like Bankersville experi- 
 ences such a run of fortune, that, when it does really 
 happen, the little world, as a rule, goes crazy over the 
 dazzling event and makes a hero of the child of luck, 
 — a rule faithfully followed in the case we are now 
 considering. 
 
XV. 
 
 IN the afternoon MiUord walked down the street 
 leading past Dr. Wilton's house, not having quite 
 formed the purpose of calling upon Marian, but hoping 
 that she might be out on the little lawn, or visible 
 somewhere else, so that he might have a smile from her 
 and lift his hat and, perhaps, stop at the gate and say 
 a word or two to her. He had given all the forepart 
 of the day to matters in his office, and imagined that 
 he had need of this walk ; he even tried to satisfy his 
 conscience with the suggestion that the particular 
 direction his steps were taking had been chosen by 
 sheerest accident. 
 
 Lovers and gamblers are always superstitious — every 
 thing is prophetic to them. They see signs and omens 
 and peculiar meanings in the commonest and smallest 
 events. Milford felt the propitiousness of the fact 
 that just as he reached the gate Marian was standing 
 ready to step into an open carriage that stood by the 
 side-walk. Moreover, she was looking superbly beau- 
 tiful — tall, fair, strong, dressed in blue to the best pos- 
 sible effect and smiling serenely, as if anticipating the 
 pleasure of her favorite drive down the valley road. 
 
214 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 She was buttoning a glove, while the small negro 
 boy who was to serve as driver, was standing in a res- 
 pectfully careless attitude holding the lines. So busy 
 was she with the moment's task, she did not notice 
 Milford's approach until he was very near her, then 
 she started and blushed prettily as she recognized him. 
 
 ** Dear me ! " she cried, " you startled me ! I was not 
 expecting you." She offered her hand quite cordially, 
 advancing a step so that he might take it. 
 
 " How bright you look ! I need not ask if you have 
 been well," he said, letting her hand go slowly out of 
 his. 
 
 " I was just on the point of driving down the river 
 road," she remarked ; " were you going in ? " 
 
 " No," he answered, with a touch of wistfulness in 
 the way he glanced at the little bay-window. " I was 
 just walking for exercise." 
 
 " Oh, then, why not drive with me? We will see if 
 you like the Wabash as well since youVe had another 
 look at the Coosa — that's your Georgian river, isn't it ? " 
 she inquired, motioning to the little black boy to turn 
 the carriage so that the wheel would be out of the 
 way ; then springing in before Milford thought of 
 offering to help her, she called out : " Get in ; the old 
 horse is asleep whenever he's still, and papa says that's 
 a sign he isn't driven enough." 
 
 Milford got in beside her and felt a calm, delicious 
 restfulness and contentment steal throughout his con- 
 
A BA NKER OF BA NKERS VILLE. 215 
 
 sciousness. The boy flourished the whip and the old fat 
 horse trotted joggingly down toward the river. They 
 soon passed out from the town into a broad lane which 
 wound along in the bluff of the valley, now past an 
 orchard heavy with apples, now in the shade of grand 
 maple-trees, and anon between dusky hedges of bois 
 dare. Overhead was a cloudless sky, soft and blue, 
 and yonder the slow, silvery river shimmered through 
 the plane-trees and clumps of water-beech and papaw 
 bushes. There was a light breeze out of the north- 
 west, cool and sweet from the grassy prairies a few 
 miles away. They heard cow-bells tinkling and, far off, 
 the whirring sound of a steam-machine threshing 
 clover. 
 
 If they had chanced to look back, as they left the 
 gate in front of the Wilton cottage, they might have 
 seen Lawson approaching, but they did not turn their 
 heads. He saw them get into the carriage and his 
 face betrayed the disappointment and jealousy he felt ; 
 not the dangerous, tragic passion of romance, but that 
 rush of feeling natural to a man of his temperament 
 under the circumstance of the situation. He stopped 
 short, and turning about went back the way he had 
 come, after gazing for a moment at the departing 
 vehicle and the two Jgures sitting so close to each 
 other in the rear seat. It was a moment of quiet, 
 silent tragedy, wherein one man began to be happy — 
 another to feel the weight of a dreary fate. 
 
2l6 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Milford was content for awhile to sit beside Marian 
 in silence and enjoy the fair, balmy weather that blew 
 upon his face and through his heart. Just then the 
 valley of the Wabash was indeed more lovely than the 
 wildest gorge of the Coosa or the Etowa. 
 
 " Did you get my letter?" he inquired presently. 
 
 *' What letter?" she demurely demanded ; and he 
 saw a pink flush come into her cheek. 
 
 " My long letter from Marietta? " 
 
 " Did you write one ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Silence fell between them ; she seemed quite 
 satisfied to have the conversation end here, as she 
 allowed her eyes to wander over some rolling stubble- 
 fields where great stacks of yellow straw shone like gold. 
 
 " Did you say you did not get my letter? " he pres- 
 ently ventured. 
 
 "Did I? No." She did not look toward him. 
 
 "No to what? Did my letter reach you?" he per- 
 sisted. 
 
 " Why don't you ask me how I have progressed 
 with my law-studies? I am through Blackstone, and 
 have nearly finished the first volume of Kent. Don't 
 you think that's pretty good, for me? " 
 
 "Why didn't you answer my letter?" he continued, 
 as if examining a witness. 
 
 "Why, didn't you get my answer?" She could not 
 help giving him a quick glance of quasi inquiry. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 217 
 
 '■'■ Did you write one ? " 
 
 *' Now I know you didn't get it. I'm so glad ! " she 
 exclaimed. " I always write such foolish letters. My 
 epistolary gifts are not worth having." 
 
 " You make a mighty poor start for a lawyer," he 
 remarked, with a slight laugh ; " you will have to school 
 your face and teach it not to tell tales." 
 
 "You don't see but one side of my face," she 
 responded, " and you can't know what the other side 
 may be telling." 
 
 ''See how the river is ablaze yonder!" she added, 
 lifting her hand and pointing at a sun-lit stretch of 
 water lying between them and a brambly bluff, on top 
 of which some cows stood strongly outlined against 
 the sky. 
 
 The road now made a turn, its course running 
 parallel with the river bank and up the stream, with 
 the roofs and spires of the little city on one hand and 
 the broad valley on the other. Some thickly set vine- 
 yards and tidily kept market gardens bordered the way. 
 
 ''Where are you taking us to, Israel?" Marian 
 demanded of the lounging driver-boy. 
 ** Up dis yer way," was the ready answer. 
 " Not past that awful starch factory, Israel, please," 
 she continued ; " and, Israel, we are not curious about 
 the pork-house, do you hear? " 
 
 " Yes'm, I not gvvine dar. Fs gwine roun' de mill 
 road—" 
 
2l8 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 *' Not past the brewery, Israel ? " 
 
 " No'm, up de Douglas Street road, an* roun* by de 
 coffin factory." 
 
 *' Oh, Israel, what a cheerful choice ! but go on." 
 
 "Yes'm." 
 
 " What did you put in your answer to my letter? " 
 Milford asked, coolly ignoring the attempted diversion. 
 
 " Oh, if you didn't get it I must have failed to mail 
 it," she exclaimed. "I'm so forgetful sometimes." 
 
 " Marian," he murmured ; and it was the first time 
 he had dared to address her in that way ; '' don't be too 
 light about it — it's a great deal to me." 
 
 " Israel, this surely is the very way past that dis- 
 gusting factory, isn't it?" 
 
 " No'm, I turn off' n dis yer road d'rectly, down yer 
 by de grabeyard." 
 
 " How consoling." 
 
 "Yes'm." 
 
 Marian and Milford looked at each other and 
 laughed, she in genuine merriment, he in sheer despair 
 of himself. 
 
 She carried in her lap, in keeping with the prevailing 
 vogue, one of those unhandy little flat leathern bags 
 with a clasp, like a money-purse, and with handles 
 after the fashion of those baskets our grandmothers 
 were fond of. This she now opened, carelessly taking 
 from it a dreamy film of white lace in the shape of a 
 handkerchief. Milford was actually startled when his 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 219 
 
 letter to her, clinging in the folds of the delicate lace, 
 was turned out upon her lap in plain view : the bold 
 superscription uppermost. 
 
 "Oh!" she involuntarily ejaculated, and her face 
 flushed. She snatched the envelope and thrust it back 
 into the bag. 
 
 " What shocking carelessness ! " he could not help 
 saying. 
 
 She glanced at him and they both laughed rather 
 unrestrainedly. 
 
 Their direction was now facing the breeze, which, 
 coming down the river, brought a smack of the water's 
 grateful coolness along with the fragrance of the fresh 
 mold heaped around the celery in the gardens. 
 
 "Aren't we going very slow, Israel ?" 
 
 "Yes'm." 
 
 " Well, brighten up a little." 
 
 " Yes'm." 
 
 " Marian, did you, really and truly, did you answer 
 that letter?" 
 
 " I was going to one of these days, but you didn't 
 give me time." 
 
 "Well, answer it now.* 
 
 " I haven't any pen or paper or " 
 
 ** Marian, do you love me ? " 
 
 Her cheek was very pale now and for a time her 
 eye-lids drooped heavily. 
 
 Again the fat old horse changed his course ; and now 
 
2 20 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 they began to climb out of the valley up toward the 
 city. 
 
 " Tell me that you love me," he urged in a low, 
 passionate half-whisper. 
 
 She trembled, but looked for a second straight into 
 his honest, earnest eyes, and the flush leaped back 
 into her cheeks. 
 
 " Ki ! dey's gittin* 'long wid de gallus putty fas'," 
 exclaimed Israel, at this sweet moment, pointing with 
 his whip to call attention to a tall, ominous-looking 
 frame-work of new timbers inside the inclosure of the 
 Bankersville jail-yard, which was now in plain view 
 from the road. " Up dar on dat highes* place 's wha* 
 dey ties de rope, an' down dar on de little flat plank 
 fixin* 's wha* he stan's when dey " 
 
 ** Hush, Israel!" she exclaimed. "Go some other 
 way, please ; I don't like this. Make haste, do you 
 hear?" 
 
 " Yes'm." He stopped the horse and added, mean- 
 time gazing at the hideous engine : " I dunno which 
 way I kin go now. I's kinder boddered." 
 
 "Turn around, you little villain, and drive back!" 
 cried Milford, feeling a shudder run through his frame. 
 
 " Yes, sah." Still gazing at the scaffold, as he began 
 pulling the horse slowly around, he remarked : " I's 
 gwine ter see dat hangin', sho's I lib. I never did see 
 nobody hung. Spec' it's powerful 'musin'." 
 
 " Israel, Israel ! I'm ashamed of you," exclaimed 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 22 1 
 
 Marian; "hush immediately; do you hear? Not 
 another word." 
 
 " Yes'm. Guess he look 'musin' when " 
 
 "The little cannibal ! The Hottentot ! " ejaculated 
 Milford. "Amusing, indeed ! " 
 
 The old horse jogged briskly back down the slope 
 to the river, where a graceful iron bridge had been 
 flung across from bank to bank. The little negro kept 
 looking back in a fascinated way. 
 
 " Mus' I dribe ober?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes," said Milford. 
 
 " Across and down to the mill bridge and then over 
 home," added Marian. 
 
 "Yes'm." 
 
 They crossed the airy bridge in silence, and slowly 
 made their way to the top of the river terrace 
 beyond. 
 
 " Ye kin see de gallus f'om yer jes* es plain," 
 remarked Israel. " It looks bigger'n it did when " 
 
 " Israel, hush ! " 
 
 "Yes'm." 
 
 " If you speak again — if you open your mouth 
 again," cried Milford, "I'll break your heathen neck! 
 Do you hear?" 
 
 "Yes, sah ; but how I git my bref, sah? How I 
 gwine ter enjoy dat hangin' ef " 
 
 " Israel ! " 
 
 " Yes'm." 
 
222 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 Israel touched the old horse with the whip and 
 presently muttered : 
 
 " Now ye can't see it no mo', it done gone erhind de 
 trees. Hope I nebber gwine ter be hung dat a way." 
 
 The shadows were stretching out across the beauti- 
 ful valley ; the air had caught something like a fore- 
 taste of the dewy evening freshness ; they could 
 plainly hear the rumble of gudgeons and the creak of 
 cogs coming up from the old water-mill among the 
 white-armed plane-trees. 
 
 " I have never told you how proud I was of your 
 speech," she said pleasantly, though she felt that there 
 was a touch of something forbidden in the subject. 
 
 " I hate myself and shall always hate myself on 
 account of that speech," he exclaimed, with sudden 
 energy, his voice rising almost to fierceness. 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly. Her eyes fell 
 before the concentrated earnestness of his gaze. 
 
 " Why do you say that ? " she ventured. 
 
 '* It was all wrong," he cried, " all wrong. I had no 
 right to try to build up my reputation as a lawyer at 
 that terrible cost to that boy." 
 
 " But you did not," she quickly said ; " you simply 
 did your duty." 
 
 " Men must not rent themselves out to do duty for 
 a price," he bitterly exclaimed. " I did not act under 
 a sense of duty." 
 
 She was thoughtful for some moments. A pair of 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 223 
 
 blue-birds flitted along ahead of them twittering musi- 
 cally and merrily. The old horse, out of respect for 
 immemorial habit, shied harmlessly as he passed the 
 jarring, growling, dusty mill. 
 
 ''I should have been terribly disappointed if you 
 had failed," she said, at length. 
 
 " I knew you would," he exclaimed ; " I saw that. 
 Your desire controlled me, fired me with an almost 
 reckless enthusiasm. I did it for you, Marian, for 
 you ! " Then he suddenly realized the almost cowardly 
 ring his words might seem to have. He was afraid that 
 she would think he meant to put the burden of respon- 
 sibility on her, and he tried to think of some explana- 
 tory phrases with which to soften down his expression 
 and give its meaning a better trend ; but she did not 
 wait for him to do this. 
 
 "Do you really think he was wrongfully convicted? 
 Wasn't he responsible ? What do you mean ? " she hur- 
 riedly, almost excitedly cried. 
 
 *' I don't know — this question of responsibility is a 
 grave one — but I — " he hesitated, *'I didn't mean to 
 blame you in the matter; you encouraged me; you 
 didn't make me — that is — " 
 
 "■ Oh, but it's horrible, awful, if they are going to 
 hang him and he innocent, or irresponsible, all because 
 you made such a powerful speech ! And I urged you 
 on—" 
 
 She paused, as though her breath had been caught 
 
224 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 from her. With the quickness of electricity the whole 
 situation was revealed, and she saw the part Milford's 
 conscience was assigning to her. The court-room scene 
 arose before her with a ghastly vividness, and, clothed 
 in a new and terrible significance, it startled her as only 
 a sudden and unexpected apparition could. 
 
 *' I made you do it," she said with strange emphasis. 
 
 *' No, you didn't — you had nothing at all to do with 
 it, you — " 
 
 '' Yes, I did," she said, firmly enough now; " I see it 
 all very plainly ; it was very wrong. I was weak and 
 ambitious." 
 
 Milford would have given worlds, had they been at 
 his command, to be able to recall his unfortunate 
 words. He saw that they had gone to her heart and 
 that she was dismayed at the picture they had con- 
 jured up. Her face was white and pinched. 
 
 They were trundled across the river again, this time 
 on an old mossy, wooden bridge whose two spans met 
 on a heavy stone pier in the middle. 
 
 " Marian," Milfordpresently said, in a slow, firm way, 
 " you shall not blame yourself ; I can't bear it, and, be- 
 sides, it's unreasonable, it has no foundation in fact." 
 
 " This execution must not take place," she ex- 
 claimed, taking no notice of his remarks. " It must be 
 stopped. I can not sleep until it is." 
 
 ** Please don't be excited," he urged gently, ventur- 
 ing to touch her hand, '' you pain me terribly." 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 225 
 
 ** Don't," she cried, taking away her hand. *' It is an 
 awful state of things. Can't there be a reprieve, a 
 pardon, or something? Hasn't the Governor the 
 power ? " 
 
 '•Yes, he has, but—" 
 
 " But he nmst ! " she cried, anticipating what he was 
 going to say. " He must, he shall ! " 
 
 Milford was thoughtful for a time, as his mem- 
 ory ran back over the whole trial. He shook his 
 head. 
 
 " No," he said, '' the Governor is not likely to inter- 
 fere where the Supreme Court have passed upon the 
 case, reviewing the merits. It is too late to hope for 
 any thing now." 
 
 " Too late I No, no, not too late ; it must not be, 
 it shall not be!" She spoke firmly, almost coldly 
 now, but her little gloved hand was clinched and her 
 eyes were very bright. 
 
 The old horse pricked up his ears as they came into 
 the street leading home, and forthwith he began to 
 quicken his gait. 
 
 Milford and Marian looked at each other as the car- 
 riage stopped at the Wilton gate. For a space, neither 
 stirred. The invisible but heavy load that hung 
 between them seemed to hold them where they 
 sat. 
 
 Israel turned the wheels to let them out, then 
 jumped to the ground and stood waiting, holding the 
 
226 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 lines. He, too, had his burden of soul disturbance. 
 He muttered absent-mindedly : 
 
 " Ef I kin git ter go to dat hangin' Ts gwine ter be 
 des es happy es a big sunflower, kase I nebber seed 
 nobody hung afore in my life. Fs gwine ter climb onter 
 de top o' dat high fence what's roun' de gallus, den I 
 kin see 'im a-hangin* — " 
 
 Miss Wilton gave the boy a look which appealed to 
 his great love for her, and he became silent. Milford 
 got out and helped her to follow. She was still very 
 pale and there was a worried look noticeable in her 
 face. He thought she wished to be alone. 
 
 ''Will you come in and have a cup of tea with us?" 
 she asked ; " I see papa at the window.'* 
 
 " No," he said, " I must go to my office. Give him 
 my greetings." 
 
 He half turned to go, but lingered to open the gate 
 for her. 
 
 " We shall see you soon, I hope," she managed to 
 say with a smile. 
 
 *' Yes, I will come." 
 
 He walked away in a strangely sad mood : a mood 
 for which he could not have accounted satisfactorily 
 even by coloring his predicament as strongly as he 
 might, save by admitting that he had given Marian 
 Wilton a blow which would leave an incurable wound 
 in her pure conscience. Then the vision of that gal- 
 lows ! He shuddered inwardly as he walked along. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 227 
 
 The thought that he had connected her with the dread- 
 ful event about to come struck him now with bitter 
 force. What cowardice it seemed ! He felt that he 
 had cast upon her a load that he had been too weak to 
 carry for himself. 
 
XVI. 
 
 MARIAN WILTON was not inclined to be over- 
 imaginative, nor had she ever shown a dis- 
 position to indulge what is called girlish sentimen- 
 tality. On the contrary, she often carried her prac- 
 tical treatment of whatever came up to be consid- 
 ered to an extreme which elicited from her father very 
 decided expressions of disapproval. Not that he ever 
 scolded her — that could not have happened — but his 
 views of the scope and extent of woman's usefulness 
 were thoroughly old-fashioned and commonplace, and 
 he often gently explained them to her in a way sug- 
 gestive of what he should like for her to do. 
 
 They were great comrades, the old doctor and his 
 daughter, believing in each other without reserve and 
 conferring together about every thing. When they 
 agreed on any proposition, their conference was not a 
 whit pleasanter than when they disagreed ; for they 
 always separated with a kiss and with affectionate 
 words and smiles. The doctor was not a deep man nor 
 was he very broad, notwithstanding that he considered 
 himself a model of intellectual liberality. He was of 
 the old school in every thing, and yet he affected many 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 229 
 
 of the most ultra ways of the radicals. Especially was 
 his patriotism violent and his prejudice against " ex- 
 confederates " bitter, almost unreasoning, particularly 
 about the time that an election was coming on. He 
 appeared to grow almost rabid in his mild, harmless 
 way, when he approached the ballot-box. Despite all 
 this, he had formed a liking for Milford, which had 
 finally ripened into a deep friendship marred by noth- 
 ing save a reserve of protest against the young man's 
 " rebel record," a protest always rather unruly when 
 excited to activity by any political emergency, espe- 
 cially when party-spirit ran high. Just now there was 
 no election near at hand ; the newspapers were amiably 
 gloating over a recent victory, or were looking aftei 
 the mistakes of a new administration with one eye, and 
 with the other scanning the social horizon for the least 
 cloud of crime or scandal ; so the good doctor sat in 
 his library reading Darwin's Origin of Species, and feel- 
 ing quite liberal and philosophic, all his prejudices in 
 abeyance, until the time when the politicians should 
 need his help. It was a most auspicious moment for 
 Marian's purpose. She came in and sat down close 
 beside him and laid a hand upon his stout knee. 
 
 " Father," she always called him father, instead of 
 papa, when she was very serious, almost solemn. 
 
 He put aside his book and smiled placidly through 
 his white, soft beard and peculiar half-moon spectacles. 
 
 "What is it, daughter?" 
 
230 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 ** I have something very important and urgent that I 
 want you to consider," she said, looking straight at 
 him with her strong, honest blue eyes, " and there is 
 no time to lose, not a moment." 
 
 " Why, what can it be ? " he exclaimed ; " you look 
 excited, Marian." 
 
 " I am excited ; it's enough to excite any body," she 
 responded, *' and I don't see what's to be done — but it 
 must be done, too ! " 
 
 " Why, dear me, child," he said, laying his white, 
 plump hand on her shining hair ; ** I never saw you so 
 nervous ; what is it ? Come, be calm and tell me." 
 
 " Oh, father ! father ! " she cried, and resting her head 
 on his knee she burst into hysterical sobbing. 
 
 " Daughter ! daughter ! " ejaculated the old man, 
 throwing one arm gently around her and drawing her 
 closer to him. *' This is strange ; speak, dear, tell me 
 what it is." 
 
 She was ashamed of her weakness and made a brave 
 effort to get control of herself. A vague suspicion had 
 leaped into Dr. Wilton's mind that here was a 
 trouble that in some way was connected with love. He 
 was an old man, but not so old that he had forgotten 
 the symptoms of tender passion. 
 
 ''Is there no way, father, by which that poor boy can 
 be saved ? " Marian presently demanded, in a steady 
 enough voice. 
 
 "What boy?" bluntly inquired the father, his face 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 231 
 
 showing perplexity blended with curiosity and a certain 
 kind of relief from the strain her mysterious grief had 
 put him to. 
 
 " Hempstead — the boy they're going to hang — oh, 
 father, he must be saved from that death — he must 
 be!" 
 
 Dr. Wilton was silent for a short time, then he 
 smiled. A man never allows a chance to go by with- 
 out exhausting all the material it offers of persecuting 
 for her opinions' sake the woman who is just then 
 nearest him. 
 
 "■ You ought to be a lawyer enough by this time, to 
 know, my dear, that his doom is sealed," he said in his 
 mildly sarcastic, loving way. 
 
 " But I don't know," she exclaimed, almost pettishly, 
 her lips pouting prettily ; " it's an extreme case, and 
 oh, papa, he's not guilty, that is, he's not — not respon- 
 sible, you know, and it was Mr. Milford's great speech 
 that led the jury to put on the death penalty, and 
 I " 
 
 " Daughter, you are getting excited again ; don't talk 
 so fast. What have you been doing to get yourself so 
 wrought up? " 
 
 ** I caused him to do it — I am to blame for it," she 
 went on. 
 
 " You ! child, you are beside yourself ! Why, my 
 dear, poor daughter, you never saw him before the 
 trial — you are " 
 
232 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 "■ Never saw Mr. Milford ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't understand " 
 
 " His speech, his cruel, deadly speech. I urged him 
 and forced him ; yes, forced him to make it against his 
 better feelings, contrary to his conscience, and that 
 was what condemned the poor boy. Oh, I can't 
 bear it ! " 
 
 Dr. Wilton felt deeply touched, and yet there seemed 
 to be something in the situation that vaguely appealed 
 to his subdued love of comedy. He could not enter 
 fully into Marian's sentiments ; his imagination gave 
 no over-pathetic glamour to the facts as they existed. 
 
 " Marian, this is absurd, ridiculous," he said, almost 
 sternly, taking off his gibbous spectacles and putting 
 them on again immediately ; " you talk wildly and — 
 and hysterically. I don't know what to think of you ; 
 you're not like yourself, at all." 
 
 She brushed the tears from her cheeks and sat up 
 straight in her chair, and he could see that she was 
 focusing her will on something about which she in- 
 tended to be very determined. 
 
 " Papa, I have made up my mind to save that boy's 
 life and I am going to do it," she said. " It will render 
 my whole life miserable if I don't." 
 
 " But what interest have you in a murderer, Marian ? 
 It was a cold-blooded, premeditated way-lay and as- 
 sassination. His conviction was legal and his punish- 
 ment will be just." 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 233 
 
 " It's not SO much him, as — as — " she faltered with 
 a flushing face. " Mr. Milford is very much distressed, 
 and I — I feel that I caused it all." 
 
 A crepuscular gleam of the very truth began to en- 
 lighten the old man's mind. 
 
 "You caused what?" he quite peremptorily de- 
 manded. 
 
 Her eyes fell. She made two or three movements 
 to speak before she finally said in answer : 
 
 " He wanted to abandon the prosecution — he felt so 
 sorry for the young prisoner — but I urged him not to 
 do it. I begged him to make that speech. I suggested 
 points to him. I held up to him the reputation, the 
 fame he could make by a successful prosecution ; I in- 
 cited him, inspired him, and he broke over his con- 
 science to — to do what I wanted him to do, and I'm 
 just as miserable as I can be and so is he." 
 
 At this point the twilight in the mind of Dr. Wilton 
 broadened into the glare of day. He saw that his 
 daughter was in love with Milford. The discovery was 
 not very welcome, not quite pleasing. Indeed, it vexed 
 him. 
 
 " This is a sort of sentimental stuff I was not ex- 
 pecting from you, Marian," he said, making a motion 
 as if to get up from his chair. She put her hand on 
 his shoulder very tenderly, and fixed her eyes earn- 
 estly on his. 
 
 " Father," she murmured, and her voice was very 
 
234 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 rich and sweet. " Father, I love him — you won't object 
 — you won't be offended — you " 
 
 "Daughter!" 
 
 " Papa." 
 
 She precipitated herself upon him and with her 
 strong, young arms wound about him she kissed his 
 forehead, and his lips, and his cheeks. He could not 
 say a word ; he was as much surprised by her impetu- 
 ous embrace as he was touched by her tenderness and 
 confiding outrightness. He stammered confusedly, 
 tried to push her away with one hand while he was 
 pressing her close to him with the other. 
 
 " Well, well, well, I must say ! " he ejaculated ; " this 
 is remarkable. I don't understand how it can — how 
 you — how I — how " 
 
 " It's true, any way," she said, releasing him with a 
 sigh and a rather dubious smile. '' And it's too late to 
 change it now." 
 
 " That is what I think; the sentence will have to be 
 executed ; there's no way to save him now," remarked 
 Dr. Wilton after a little thoughtful pause. Her smile 
 became more secure — she even laughed ; her father 
 mixed up the different subjects so strangely it was 
 almost funny. But she grew serious again in a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " I can't think of giving up the attempt, father ; I 
 feel bound to do it, because I know it was I who 
 brought it all about, and he knows it, too. Now help 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 235 
 
 me, won't you ? There's a good, kind, generous papa. 
 Tell me what to do." 
 
 "Do? You can't do any thing, Marian." 
 
 " Oh, but I must, I will ; there's no other honest 
 course. He feels like a murderer, and I like an 
 accessory." 
 
 " He is one. Didn't he hide behind a hay-stack and 
 shoot young Wilkins?" 
 
 *' Well^ but I mean Mr. Milford— I mean that he 
 feels that way." 
 
 " Oh, he— he feels that way ? " 
 
 " Yes, and I caused him to do it. I persuaded him, 
 urged him, goaded him on to do it," she vehemently 
 exclaimed. " I forced him to do it." 
 
 "To do what?" 
 
 " Father, don't you understand that he thinks 
 young Hempstead ought not to be hanged — he 
 thought so all the time, and didn't want to prosecute 
 him so mercilessly; but I was ambitious for him, I 
 wanted him to be victorious over that great criminal 
 lawyer, and I made him — yes, just made him have no 
 conscience, no mercy, no pity. So you see it was I 
 that really turned fate upon the poor boy." 
 
 " Well, I must say, Marian, you surprise and — and 
 trouble me. This is all sentimentality ; you are allow- 
 ing your feelings to override your judgment. Come, 
 come, this won't do ! " He was wiping his spectacles 
 vigorously with his handkerchief as he spoke, and 
 
236 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 his face showed that he felt more than his words 
 implied. 
 
 " But the Governor might reduce his punishment 
 to imprisonment for life?" she ventured, in that 
 meekly firm way her father knew so well how to inter- 
 pret ; " there might be a petition? " 
 
 " It would do no good — none whatever. They are 
 criticising the Governor now for being too lenient to 
 criminals ; he can't afford to interfere." Dr. Wilton 
 said this with the air of putting an end to the dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 They had risen and were standing nearly facing 
 each other: Marian, with hands lightly clasped before 
 her, her head drooping, her eyes fixed on the carpet at 
 her feet. She was almost as tall as her father, and her 
 figure was superbly strong and well turned. In a 
 moment she looked up and said : 
 
 " If you will not forbid me, I will get a petition 
 and take it to the governor. I must do that 
 much." 
 
 Dr. Wilton scarcely knew what to say. It was a 
 proposition he did not wholly like, and yet he saw by 
 Marian's face and manner that she could not bear a 
 refusal. If he had been closely questioned he would 
 have been compelled to admit that her statement of 
 the case had aroused in him some strange feelings. If 
 she really felt that she had caused the conviction of 
 young Hempstead, it would make her just as miserable 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 237 
 
 as if it were true. Moreover, her influence on Milford, 
 no matter how imaginary, evidently was a reality, so 
 far as her conscience was concerned. As president of 
 the college, and as professor of mental and moral 
 philosophy, he had been training his mind for years to 
 grapple with obscure problems of the soul and mind, 
 and now he felt this one taking great proportions. He 
 could not solve it in a moment. It was a great relief 
 to him when the door-bell rang and Miss Crabb was 
 admitted. She had a copy of Arthur Selby's maga- 
 zine in her hand, in which the editor, reviewing the 
 leading novel of the season, stated that it had leaked 
 out that its author was a Mr. Milford of Bankersville, 
 Indiana. 
 
 ^'I'm just perfectly delighted," cried Miss Crabb, as 
 soon as greetings were over and Dr. Wilton had 
 excused himself and retired ; " it's perfectly charming 
 to think that, after all, Bankersville has the honor of 
 owning the new star of the literary heavens ! " 
 
 She proceeded to read aloud from the magazine the 
 flattering notice of the novel and the surmise as to its 
 author. 
 
 " It is a mistake," said Marian. " I am quite sure 
 that Mr. Milford did not write the book." 
 
 " Have you read it?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Well, I have, and it's just as much like him as it 
 can be. You'll say so yourself when you read it. I'll 
 
238 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 send you my copy — advance sheets unbound, you 
 know. I'm going to give it a rousing send-off here." 
 
 *' But you mustn't say he wrote it " 
 
 *• Oh, certainly not ; but I'll copy this from the mag- 
 azine, you know. That will be enough. His fortune 
 is made — this book has put him on the very top 
 wave." 
 
 Marian let go a little fluttering sigh, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 Miss Crabb went on to talk, skipping from one sub- 
 ject to another, until finally she said : 
 
 " They're circulating a petition to get Hempstead's 
 sentence reduced to imprisonment ; all the jurors have 
 signed it — so has the judge. I hope it will succeed, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 Marian started, she could scarcely speak. 
 
 " Oh, if it can be done, what a relief it will be ! " she 
 cried. 
 
 ** Yes, the whole town is gloomy. Just to think, it 
 is the first death-sentence ever pronounced in Bank- 
 ersville ! And that dreadful scaffold ! Ugh ! I dream 
 about it of nights. Would you believe it ? the pub- 
 lisher of the Scar has refused to sign the petition, and 
 I just know it is because he thinks the horrible affair 
 will sell a large edition of his disreputable sheet. But 
 every body is signing it, just to save the credit of our 
 town, you know ; Bankersville couldn't afford to have 
 such a blood-curdling spectacle within its limits." 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 239 
 
 " Have any women signed the petition ? " asked 
 Marian. 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure, but it would be a good 
 idea, wouldn't it ? " Miss Crabb responded ; then con- 
 tinued glibly : " If they could get a large number of 
 women's names, it would be a great influence ; women 
 are gaining in influence every day, don't you think 
 so?" 
 
 "Yes — I don't know — it seems so," Marian falter- 
 ingly acknowledged ; " we must do our best in this 
 endeavor." 
 
 "It's a good suggestion, I'll see about it," Miss 
 Crabb exclaimed. " Why wouldn't it be a good idea 
 to get the murdered boy's parents to sign it?" she 
 went on. " His mother especially," she added, as she 
 followed the thought with her usual audacity. She 
 wound up by saying: " It was Mr. Milford's splendid 
 speech — that's what every body says — more than it was 
 the testimony, anyway. Of course the boy ought to 
 be severely punished, as a warning, you know. Oh, 
 how Mr. Milford is rising ! I envy him. Why 
 couldn't I have written that novel? But then a 
 woman's got no chance, unless she takes a man's name, 
 like Craddock, or George Eliot, or Georges Sand, or 
 George Fleming. I won't do that ; I won't have fame 
 if I have to pretend I'm a man to get it ! " 
 
 " Why, I think you are getting fame without any 
 thing of that sort," said Marian, rather abstractedly. 
 
240 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " I thought SO too, a few months ago," Miss Crabb 
 frankly and somewhat bitterly acknowledged, '' but I 
 can't get a thing printed now, not a thing ; just every 
 thing comes back with the same whine about crowded 
 columns and manuscripts on hand, and regrets and all 
 that sort of thing. But then Mr. Milford's novel is a 
 good one — superbly good ; it deserves all the praise it 
 gets and more. You shall read it. I don't think I 
 shall write any more myself. I'm utterly discouraged. 
 This thing of literature is a good deal like gambling, 
 the lucky ones walk off with the prizes. Merit, for 
 merit's sake, doesn't have much show, that is, if a 
 woman offers it. I suspect that the world was made 
 to a man's order, in the first place ; anyway, men have 
 got the start and are likely to keep it. Don't you 
 think so ? I wish I were a man for just one year — if 
 only to test the world's sincerity." 
 
 When Miss Crabb had gone away, Marian gave her- 
 self up to the consideration of how she could aid in 
 obtaining commutation of Hempstead's sentence. 
 This thought had taken complete control of her. 
 
 Miss Crabb was too busy with her own grievance to 
 notice the effect her talk about young Hempstead's 
 case had made upon Marian. Indeed, what to her was 
 life, or death, even by the gibbet, compared with her 
 passion for writing and the bitterness of her sense of 
 failure ? Arthur Selby had steadily refused all her 
 manuscripts lately, and the future was dreary enough 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 241 
 
 in her eyes. She felt that she was, in some way, the 
 victim of a conspiracy, and that Arthur Selby was the 
 arch-conspirator. She read and re-read the rejected 
 manuscripts, and with each reading their beauties of 
 style and their force of construction appeared to grow 
 apace. Oh, if she could but find some publisher who 
 cared just a little for true merit ! She walked sadly 
 to her office and attacked the pile of exchanges with 
 her scissors. 
 
 Meantime, Marian was sad enough. She sat in the 
 little library trying in vain to think. Lawson called 
 in the evening, and although she essayed to be politely 
 sociable, she was not like herself to him. She tried to 
 sing when he asked it, but it was a dreary failure ; her 
 voice seemed to have partaken of her gloom : it had 
 lost its charm. 
 
 When he had risen to go, she said to him : — 
 
 "There is a petition to the Governor in young 
 Hempstead's behalf, I have heard." 
 
 " Yes, but it's useless ; the Governor won't notice 
 it," he responded. 
 
 " Do you think so ? Oh, I'd give any thing, every 
 thing to have it done — to have the boy saved. I feel 
 so sorry for him," she exclaimed, her voice trembling 
 sweetly. 
 
 It may have been much owing to Lawson's peculiar 
 frame of mind just then, but her words went to his 
 heart like a cry of despair, so plaintive, so quaveringly 
 
242 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 appealing that he stood and looked at her for a 
 moment without speaking. She looked to him like a 
 living but breathless statue of prayer. 
 
 " Do you care a great deal about this? Is there any 
 great reason why you want the boy saved ? Is it a 
 very dear wish of yours? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes," she tremblingly cried, clasping her 
 hands and putting them against her breast ; " it is my 
 very dearest wish now. It is everything to me, every- 
 thing." 
 
 **Then it shall be done," he said, his voice heavy 
 and positive. " Good-night." 
 
 He left her abruptly, striding out through the hall 
 with a heavy, measured tread. 
 
 In some way she caught something more than hope 
 from his voice and manner. It was as if he had shown 
 her the key of the jail. A sense of relief took posses- 
 sion of her, and she sank into a chair as one who is 
 weak from relaxation after great pain. 
 
 Lawson's apparent success in every thing he had un- 
 dertaken served to assure her that if he willed the con- 
 victed boy's reprieve and the commutation of his sen- 
 tence, he would have his way. 
 
XVII. 
 
 DOWNS had one bad habit, which, however evil 
 and ugly as an example, seemed in his case to 
 have no growing tendency. It consisted of a matuti- 
 nal pilgrimage to the nearest bar where a glass of 
 whisky could be had for the price of ten cents. This 
 one-before-breakfast sip was all the stimulant he would 
 take in one day. Nothing could have induced him to 
 leave off the habit or to increase it in any way. 
 
 " It seems to sorty clear up my head," he often re- 
 marked, ** and then it stays clear for twenty-four 
 hours. It's kind o* like windin' up a watch." 
 
 These early down-town visits often enabled him to 
 bring to the tidy and quiet boarding-house of Mrs. 
 O'Slaughtery some fresh bits of local news in advance 
 of the morning journals. His round, red face and 
 sparkling eyes had a way upon such occasions of sup- 
 plementing to perfection the glibness of his tongue and 
 the picturesqueness of his vocabulary. 
 
 " The town's in mournin', the flag on the court-house 
 steeple is at half-mast, tickets to the hangin' are 
 quoted at nominal prices, with no buyers, the jail is 
 disconsolate, the gallus is a forlorn widder," he cried 
 
244 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 as he beamed in upon the breakfast room, just as the 
 rest of the boarders had got fairly seated. " Bet you 
 can't guess what's happened." 
 
 " The la, Misther Downs, I can guess the first 
 toime ; I'll wager me coffee-pot against a pair of foine 
 gloves," said the landlady, pausing to balance the 
 shining silver urn in her plump hand. 
 
 ** Done ! Now, what's happened ? " demanded 
 Downs eagerly. 
 
 "Ye've been takin' just a drop more whisky 'an 
 common, that's all, to be sure, Misther Downs." 
 
 The boarders promptly voted that Mrs. O'Slaugh- 
 tery had won the gloves, against which the auction* 
 eer stoutly but ineffectually protested. 
 
 ** Won't you hear a feller explain?" he asked. 
 " I have got news and just lots of it. Why the town's 
 a-b'ilin' like a soda-water fountain, jest a-sizzlin' as 
 it were." 
 
 *' But ye'll not forget that the number of the gloves 
 is six an' a half, an' the stoile six-button kid, medium 
 tan color, sir." 
 
 *• Possibly you folks don't want to hear the news 
 anyhow — you'd rather joke along an' wait for the 
 newspapers. Of course I don't care to force the 
 statement onto you." Downs took his seat at the 
 table, with a look as near that of offended dignity as 
 his florid, genial face could assume. 
 
 " Now, my dear Misther Downs, if the gloves are too 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 245 
 
 expinsive, don't think of 'em, plase, but do till — tell us 
 the news, please," said Mrs. O'Slaughtery very gently, 
 and in her most insinuating tone. 
 
 Downs brightened. 
 
 " Well, the town's like a bumblebee's nest after a 
 boy's been there ; you never heard sich a-hummin' and 
 a-stirrin'. Last night, sometime, while the jailer was 
 asleep an' dreamin' of the delights of the comin' execu- 
 tion, that boy Hempstead got out an' jest nat'rally 
 skipped." 
 
 *' Is he gone ? Did he escape entirely, are you sure ? " 
 demanded Milford, his lips pale and his whole face 
 expressive of intense feeling. 
 
 " You're mighty right," said Downs ; " he's clear gone ; 
 didn't leave a trace or a sign. His cell was unlocked 
 and him gone, and that's all there is of it." 
 
 Milford made no response, but sat overcome with a 
 rush of feeling that seemed to have swept a great load 
 from his heart. 
 
 ** Your beautiful speech has been cheated out of its 
 result, Mr. Milford," said Downs, after the ejacula- 
 tions and hasty comments had flashed around the 
 table. '' It looks like a shame." 
 
 *' I'm sure Misther Milford needn't care at all," re- 
 marked Mrs. O'Slaughtery ; '' he's done his duty an' 
 got his pay. Let the poor unfortunate lad go, an' 
 good luck to 'm." 
 
 Milford ate very little breakfast ; he was too im- 
 
246 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 patient to be down in the street, where he could hear 
 all and get confirmation of this news. As he walked 
 toward his office he found himself a little nervous for 
 fear that it might turn out a mere sensation, caused 
 by some slight attempt at escape by the prisoner. It 
 seemed too strangely good to be true, that Marian 
 Wilton's self-condemnation should be ended so soon. 
 Ah, how this will relieve her, he thought ; for since the 
 drive by the river he had been conscious of how keenly 
 she would suffer under the belief that she had been an 
 agent in fixing the fate of young Hempstead. This 
 reflection had added a deeper color to the whole 
 trouble. He could not bear that she should be loaded 
 with even an imaginary part of the responsibility 
 which had so nagged at his conscience. 
 
 Downs had scarcely exaggerated the excitement in 
 the streets of Bankersville, as Milford soon discovered. 
 It seems strange to have to record the fact that many 
 persons behaved as though they had been cheated or 
 had had some impending pleasure snatched away when 
 it was ready to fall upon them. Men raved and swore 
 or delivered themselves of sudden rancor by heaping 
 abuse upon the head of the jailer. 
 
 Cool-minded persons, after giving the facts and sur- 
 roundings some careful thought, confessed that it did 
 look as if there might have been bribery and conniv- 
 ance, but really there was not a breath of legal evi- 
 dence to that effect ; and as the jailer had always been 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 247 
 
 considered a man of good character, the suspicion was 
 throttled in its earliest stage, so far as any public ex- 
 pression went. 
 
 The jailer's story was not impossible in its terms, 
 but there was an air of something unauthentic, rather 
 than improbable, in it. Very few persons believed 
 what he said, if believing excludes doubt, but nobody 
 was willing to take the responsibility of attempting to 
 develop to its highest power the suspicion he felt, or, 
 in other words, to begin an investigation. 
 
 The sheriff used every means in his power to recap- 
 ture the prisoner, but he could not discover even the 
 faintest trace of his course. The flight had been as 
 trackless as if it had been made through the upper air. 
 
 Under all the circumstances, Hempstead's escape 
 could not fail to make a strange impression on Marian 
 Wilton's mind, especially when the rumor came to her 
 ears of a suspicion that the jailer had been bribed. 
 Here was a chapter added to her experience as un- 
 expected as it was contradictory in its effects. With 
 the quick insight of a woman, she at once saw that 
 Lawson, prompted by what she had said to him, had 
 used some undue influence to free Hempstead. Nor 
 did her vision stop at this, for a woman always under- 
 stands a man who loves her. She swiftly compre- 
 hended that he probably had felt the value his act 
 might have in connection with his suit for her hand. 
 She blushed with humiliation and self-contempt at the 
 
248 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 thought. Had he really understood her to mean that 
 she wished a jail delivery? Could it be possible that 
 she was now an accessory to a crime in the eyes of 
 Chester Lawson ? There was just enough of proba- 
 bihty supporting her suspicion to make her quite 
 miserable ; and yet whenever she realized that the 
 dreadful gallows, whose image had remained in her 
 mind ever since she saw it, was cheated of its victim, 
 it thrilled her with an exquisite pleasure. She felt 
 quite willing to bear almost any thing for the sake of 
 knowing that Milford would be delivered from the 
 gloomly misgivings into which his fierce and terrible 
 prosecution of Hempstead had cast him, but this could 
 scarcely blunt the pang she felt at the possibility of 
 her unguarded words having influenced Lawson to 
 commit an actual crime. She was aware that she pos- 
 sessed a stronger control over the lover she did not 
 love than over the one she did love, a secret discov- 
 ered by many a woman, and it humiliated her to feel 
 that she had exerted, even inadvertently, a power 
 which, according to every dictate of delicacy and 
 right, should have been left unused forever. 
 
 Miss Crabb rushed in to see her, as she always did 
 when there was a sensation in Bankersville. The 
 elements of the volatile editor and impatient author 
 were not more notably developed in Miss Crabb than 
 was that more womanly characteristic, the love of 
 gossip. She was an overwhelming talker, and finding 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 249 
 
 Marian a good listener, she always came to the Wilton 
 home heavily burdened with something to say. Her 
 influence was good, perhaps ; for, no matter how dis- 
 couraged she chanced to be, she was never ill-natured, 
 and if she now and then grew hysterical, it was hysteria 
 of a light and laughing sort. 
 
 On this occasion Miss Crabb was in ecstacies. She 
 did not know which contributed most to her delight : 
 the fact that Hempstead had escaped or the discomfit- 
 ure of the Scar editor on account of losing the oppor- 
 tunity to publish a blood-curdling description of the 
 execution. 
 
 " I do think the whole thing is a special providence, 
 Marian, a divine interposition in behalf of our sweet 
 little city," she remarked with great warmth and quite 
 amazing fluency. *' Think of the Boston of Indiana — 
 the Athens of the West — the Paris of the Wabash, 
 being the scene of a vulgar, brutal execution by the 
 gibbet ! I'm just actually overjoyed — I can't help it. 
 Talk about justice and the vindication of the law, 
 why, nothing could be more demoralizing than such 
 a scene as that would have been ! I was just thinking 
 last night that if I could do it I would go and let 
 that boy out. Oh, you ought to see that Scar man's 
 face ! It looks a yard long. If his wife had died he 
 wouldn't have taken it half so hard. It just does me 
 good." 
 
 *' But shouldn't you expect that the prisoner would 
 
250 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 be recaptured ? — you don't think he can escape wholly, 
 do you ? " asked Marian. 
 
 ** Oh, he's gone, I guess ; the sheriff is thoroughly 
 bewildered, and there seems to be no clew whatever to 
 the direction he took. He's running for his life, re- 
 member, and he'll run his best." 
 
 " I hope he will," said Marian, with a poor smile ; " it 
 would be horrible if they should retake him." 
 
 ** Yes, it would ; but I don't think they will, he's got 
 too great a start," rejoined Miss Crabb, unfolding a 
 sheet of writing-paper. " To change the subject," she 
 went on, after a little pause ; " I want to read you my 
 latest poem. It seems good to me and I should like 
 your candid opinion of it ; you have such exquisite taste 
 and I'm so apt to be partial and prejudiced when con- 
 sidering my own things. May I read it ? " 
 
 Marian assented cordially enough, though just then 
 she was in no mood for poetry. 
 
 " It's short," apologized the editor, "and that is in 
 its favor, to begin with ; moreover, I think it has a 
 little bit of originality in it." 
 
 She read : 
 
 " Can any good song come out of the West ? 
 
 Has the bard of the fields and the prairies been born ? 
 Oh, who sings the wheat ? and who has expressed 
 The music of grass and the rapture of corn ? 
 
 " Is the lyrist of Nature a lad at his plow, 
 
 With his feet brown and bare and his straw hat all torn ? 
 Or is it the bonny girl milking her cow 
 
 Shall trill us the score of the grass and the corn ? 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 251 
 
 ** Ah, no matter who sings the song, so he be 
 Of the West, to the Hfe of a Westerner born ; 
 A maid, or a lad, or a man strong and free 
 As the soul of the grass or the spirit of corn ! " 
 
 " I don't just like that closing phrase," Miss Crabb 
 remarked byway of comment ; '' it's good ; it's just what 
 I want to say, but I'm afraid the humorists will take it 
 up, and if they do, just imagine what they'll make of 
 it ! Spirit of corn — corn-juice — essence of corn — whis- 
 ky — ugh ! These humorists have grown to be a ter- 
 ror — all but Burdette, he's always kind — they are like 
 hawks, they pounce on you unaware and catch you 
 just when you're not expecting it. Would you let it 
 alone so, if you were I ? " 
 
 " I should not care for them. It seems very pretty 
 to me — I like it," said Marian, frankly. ** It seems 
 fresh and musical." 
 
 " Do you know what suggested it ? " asked Miss Crabb ; 
 and then, without waiting for an answer, she continued 
 briskly : '' It was something Mrs. Goodword said the 
 other evening in her sermon, something about the 
 genius of the West being as free as the grass on the 
 prairies and the corn in the fields. I came away with 
 the thought ringing through my mind and it worried 
 me till I wrote it." 
 
 "I haven't been at any of Mrs. Goodword's m.eet- 
 ings," said Marian, *' but I am going this evening. Are 
 they interesting ? Is she a person of any ability ? " 
 
252 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " Yes and no," responded the editor, knitting her 
 brows and drawing down the corners of her large, flexi- 
 ble mouth ; " she's sensational and crude, but then she 
 has a peculiar fervor that is contagious or something — 
 it affects you in spite of yourself. I don't just ap- 
 prove of her, and yet I can't, for the life of me, say 
 why. She's not exactly vulgar — her voice is honest 
 and sweet, her eyes clear and earnest, she has a 
 fine presence, and all that ; still I find a protest 
 against her in my heart or mind somewhere, as 
 if she were doing me some indirect and subtle 
 injustice, or something. I don't know just how to 
 express it." 
 
 "You are prejudiced against women-orators, per- 
 haps," suggested Marian. 
 
 " No, I am not ; I have thought of lecturing myself, 
 or reading my poems. No, it's not any prejudice. It 
 seems to lie deeper. I've thought of it a good deal. 
 Sometimes I think it's the way she swings wide her 
 arms and leans backward when she is saying something 
 she wishes every body to hear, and then again I suspect 
 that it's the long strides she makes when she walks to 
 and fro on the platform. It's as if I approved of her 
 in theory, but recoiled from her — very gently and 
 vaguely — in practice." 
 
 ** It is probably one of those inexplicable personal 
 dislikes," said Marian, growing a little interested ; "you 
 know we have them sometimes so obscurely developed 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 253 
 
 that we can not understand their origin. Often they 
 are unjust, too." 
 
 " No, but I like Mrs. Goodword personally ; she has 
 been in the office frequently and she's charming. No, 
 the recoil is generated on the platform — in the pulpit. 
 You must go and hear her ; I think you'll feel just as I 
 do about it." 
 
 Miss Crabb rose to go. Marian followed her to the 
 gate to say, at last : 
 
 " If you hear— if anything new happens — if you get 
 any further word about Hempstead, let me know, 
 won't you? It seems so strange that he could 
 escape." 
 
 *'A11 right, I'll keep you posted," responded the 
 editor; "but don't forget Mrs. Goodword's meeting." 
 
 Lawson called that evening and walked with Marian 
 to the church, which was but two squares distant from 
 the house. She would have avoided him if it had 
 been possible without rudeness, for just then he was 
 of all the world the one person she could not meet and 
 feel at peace with her conscience. Not that she admit- 
 ted any guilt, on her part, in Lawson's crime, if he had 
 really committed one — the qualms that beset her 
 reached back to the fact that she had tacitly commis- 
 sioned him to make some effort, right or wrong, 
 for her sake. He would feel that she could not 
 help recognizing the obligation he had placed her 
 under. 
 
254 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 He was in a very cheerful mood, and much to her 
 relief, talked in a light way, without alluding to the sub- 
 ject she dreaded. 
 
 They arrived at the church rather early, but this 
 gave them an opportunity to choose good seats from 
 which they could have a full view of the proceedings. 
 Marian felt that she had not come out of any better 
 motive than a species of curiosity — " pious investiga- 
 tion," Lawson called it. 
 
 Mrs. Goodword came in after the auditorium had 
 been crowded for sometime. A wide rustle, amount- 
 ing almost to applause, greeted her appearance. She 
 went directly to the platform upon which the pulpit 
 stood, and as she ascended the two or three steps she 
 began singing an "exhilarating hymn in a voice as 
 rich as gold," as the newspapers reported next morn- 
 ing. 
 
 " I don't like her looks," said Lawson in a low tone. 
 " She has a man-like manner which I'd call a swagger, 
 if I dared, and her voice suggests a straining for effect ; 
 it's a poor business for a woman at best." 
 
 "You are hard on her — hard on us all, Mr. Lawson," 
 remarked Marian. 
 
 Lawson was about to speak again when McGinnis, 
 elbowing and zig-zagging his way along, reached the 
 back of the young man's seat and leaning over whis- 
 pered in his ear. 
 
 " Excuse me," said Lawson instantly, turning upon 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 255 
 
 Marian a suddenly excited face. " Excuse, me please ; 
 a little matter of urgent business. I may not be able 
 to return." 
 
 " Oh, pray don't think of me, I shall get on well 
 enough," she responded. " I hope you have no bad 
 news?" she involuntarily added, thinking of Hemp- 
 stead. 
 
 " No," he replied, smiling and recovering his com- 
 posure, " not so very bad. It could be a good deal 
 worse." 
 
 He went away wondering why she had asked the 
 question ; he was scarcely out of sight when Milford 
 came and begged Marian's permission to sit in the 
 vacant seat beside her. This was while the house 
 seemed fairly to rock under the singing now taken up 
 by hundreds of voices. 
 
 At least half the congregation consisted of people 
 from the country, some of whom had come many 
 miles to attend the great revival. 
 
 Ranged in a semicircle before the pulpit were the 
 anxious seats, now fast filling with seekers after spir- 
 itual comfort. 
 
 At the end of the song Mrs. Goodword lifted her 
 hand and prayed in a loud, resonant, almost masculine 
 voice. Marian thought of what Miss Crabb had said, 
 and there crept into her consciousness a shadowy sense 
 of shame, or something akin to it ; it was as if she 
 herself stood on the platform and prayed aloud, while 
 
2S0 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 all the people kneeled or gazed. She could not keep 
 from casting a glance at Milford. There was a look 
 on his face which would have been pity if it had been 
 less cold. She understood it. He shared Lawson's 
 opinion of the spectacle. 
 
 When Mrs. Goodword began to address the congre- 
 gation Marian tried to compose herself and listen, but 
 in spite of all she could do she let her mind wander. 
 How sweetly arose in her memory a vision of the first 
 part of the quiet drive with Milford the other morn- 
 ing ! She wondered if it could be as precious to him 
 as it was to her. 
 
 The preacher began to fling out her arms and to 
 pour forth a flood of exhortation, her voice rising and 
 falling in strong undulations of persuasive, touchingly 
 musical appeal. Then the mourners began to be 
 heard crying out, and here and there in the crowd a 
 voice shouted "Amen" or "Thank the Lord," while 
 the whole mass seemed to be swaying to the palpita- 
 tions of the exhortation. Marian gazed fixedly at the 
 tall, strong figure of the enthusiastic speaker, watched 
 her face, her excited gestures, her ungraceful attitudes, 
 with a consciousness of objection in her heart some- 
 where, to being a part, even in so slight a degree, of 
 this strange exhibition. 
 
 Presently five young men went upon the platform, 
 and ranging themselves in a row, arm in arm, and 
 facing the audience, sang the Nmety and Nine with 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 257 
 
 great power. How almost weirdly beseeching Mrs. 
 Goodword's voice now sounded in the midst of that 
 musical din ! She grew ecstatic in gesture and expres- 
 sion, and strode back and forth in front of the row of 
 singers, calling loudly and fervently on sinners to 
 repent before it should be everlastingly too late. 
 
 " Do you care very much about this sort of thing?" 
 Milford inquired suddenly, as the noise, doubled and 
 trebled by added voices, became next to deafening. 
 Many people were standing in the seats gazing over 
 the heads of others in front of them. 
 
 "Do you care for this? does it interest you a great 
 deal?" Milford added. 
 
 ** I don't know," she answered ; " I think it is strange, 
 almost weird." 
 
 Some one began to shout — it was a thin, sharp, 
 quavering voice. Milford recognized it at once. 
 
 How well he remembered its appeal to him, once 
 upon a time, before young Hempstead's trial. He 
 looked and saw, what the cry had led him to expect, a 
 woman with upturned face and out-stretched arms, 
 frantically exhilarated with the draught of excitement 
 imbibed from the exhortation, the singing and the 
 praying. It was poor old Mrs. Hempstead, but the 
 voice was more than hers, it seemed to, Milford — a 
 voice that filled the universe and suggested an 
 infinitude of strange shadowy doubts. He was an 
 orthodox Presbyterian, and he held in highest venera- 
 
258 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 tion all the ordinances and all the sacred traditions of 
 his church, and yet he was liberal, he thought, to a 
 degree which would keep undue prejudice out of his 
 mind in the presence of any advanced methods of 
 Christian work. Mrs. Goodword's peculiar eloquence 
 and her strange mesmeric effect upon those weaker 
 than she, suggested a fascination too subtle and secret 
 to be felt as wholly good, he feared ; then her voice ; 
 the very voice it was of one who seeks to fascinate 
 rather than to convince, to frighten rather than to per- 
 suade. He watched the trembling, pallid subjects of 
 her influence, as they writhed under the ecstatic tor- 
 ture she inflicted, and he dared not judge whether it 
 was really the spirit of Christ or the spirit of ambitious 
 experiment he saw at work. All the time the voice of 
 Mrs. Hempstead prevailed over the strange clamor 
 of the meeting : — " Praise the Lord ! Glory, glory, 
 glory! "it cried, its singular tone vibrating through 
 the din with thrilling distinctness. "Glory! Oh, 
 glory, hallelujah ! I prayed an* my prayer was heard, 
 my boy is safe, the good Lord delivered him from 
 death! Glory, glory! Oh, I will praise Him, praise 
 Him, all my life-time ! I am happy forever and for- 
 ever! Glory, glory, glory! " she went on. 
 
 " Let us go home," said Milford, " this is no place 
 for you, Marian." 
 
 *' Oh, I prayed for my poor boy ! I prayed the Lord 
 to open the jail an* let him out, an' He done it. He 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 259 
 
 done it, blessed forever be His name!" rang out the 
 thin, ecstatic cry again. 
 
 '' Who is that ? Who— that is— is that his mother ? " 
 exclaimed Marian, as she caught the strange words. 
 
 " Yes ; she is over-wrought, she should be taken 
 away," said Milford. "Come, Marian, come with me." 
 
 She rose and took his arm. No one noticed them 
 as they made their way out of the crowd and clamor 
 into the sweet, cool night. Slowly the noise softened 
 down as they walked toward her home. The blessing 
 of a cloudless sky, with its pale moon and silver stars, 
 hovered over the little city. The blessing of a deep 
 peace crept into the hearts of the two, as the last mur- 
 mur of the revival died out. They reached the gate, 
 and then as if recollecting that they had scarcely 
 spoken on the way, they looked at each other and 
 smiled. He opened the gate and let her go through, 
 but in some way he caught her hand, so that she must 
 needs turn round and smile at him again over the little 
 wicker-work barrier. 
 
 "After all, Marian," he murmured, with a touch of 
 man's selfishness and conceit in his voice, " after all, a 
 woman can not be an orator in the noblest degree." 
 
 " All women can not be orators," she quickly 
 responded, " nor can all men. Few are chosen, even 
 if many are called. You must not take one or two 
 instances to prove a rule." 
 
 " Oh, a woman is always a woman," he gently 
 
26o A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 insisted, still holding her firm, strong little hand across 
 the gate ; *' and there is something she loses under a 
 test like that — that subtle charm, that elect, exclusive 
 grace of body and soul, worshiped, adored by all 
 good men — is it not so ? " She tried to release her- 
 self. He did not let her go, taking quick advantage 
 of her effort by holding her hand all the faster. 
 
 *' In your own heart, Marian, you have already 
 answered my question," he gravely said, leaning far 
 over the gate. " Women are good for all that home 
 and love can rightfully mean or claim." 
 
 '• I'd better go in, then, for this night air isn't exactly 
 home," she replied, giving another fruitless pull to 
 release the hand he held so close. 
 
 " But it's the atmosphere of love, Marian, isn't it? — 
 you love me, don't you ? Say yes, say you do " 
 
 He reached forth his other hand and drew h«r to 
 him, despite her silent little struggle, and there in the 
 sky light, and star light, and heaven light he did a* 
 lovers have done ever since front gates were invented 
 kissed her good night, and good morning, and good 
 always, and ever. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 As Milford walked back to his room, filled with 
 the deep strange joy of love, he passed by 
 the large French-glass window of McGinnis's office. 
 Within he saw the banker and Lawson sitting with 
 their heads close together, evidently in earnest con- 
 sultation. He had been suspecting lately that finan- 
 cial affairs were not just as Lawson had planned 
 for them to be, and now the thought flashed across his 
 mind that probably the frequent fluctuations in the 
 Chicago market lately had brought calamity to the two 
 great Bankersville speculators. Indeed, to his imagi- 
 nation there was something in the attitudes and the 
 expression of the men suggestive of great mental strain, 
 as if they were grappling with some stupendous 
 threat of chance. It was only a glimpse through the 
 clear glass between heavy curtains, a glimpse of rather 
 gaudy upholstery and a rich carpet, a covered walnut 
 desk, and the two men — the thin, nervous face of 
 McGinnis, pale and set, the heavy features of Lawson, 
 red and almost stolid, but it was strangely expressive 
 of evil of some sort, as Milford's mind chanced to 
 interpret it. 
 
262 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 He went up into his own office to have a smoke and 
 dream awhile before retiring for the night. His 
 thoughts did not dwell long on McGinnis and Lawson ; 
 they vibrated between the tender joy of knowing that 
 Marian loved him and the bright future that his book's 
 great success was promising to him. It was but natural 
 that he should look forward now with a color of the rose 
 clinging to everything his vision could reach ; but the 
 provincial person, the Westerner, say, or the Southerner 
 and especially the provincial artist, novelist, or poet, is 
 apt to use his imagination or, perhaps, his fancy in 
 everything, as if his isolated, cramped and realistic life, 
 calling for some relief, could find unlimited delight in a 
 strained idealism, and Milford felt possibilities in his 
 coming career far greater than any experienced littera- 
 teur of Boston or New York would have thought it 
 advisable to expect. He had more courage and more 
 confidence, no doubt, for the very reason that the busi- 
 ness aspect of his literary ventures troubled him little. 
 What with the money he would soon get from the 
 pine lands of his faf.her's estate and a small sum laid 
 up from his legal earnings, he felt that he might safely 
 marry Marian and begin a new life with every prospect 
 of happiness. Here is the provincial's advantage over 
 the metropolitan — freedom from the restraint of social 
 necessity as well as exemption from the exactions of a 
 time-serving taste — immunities dear to creative genius. 
 Burns and Jasmin and Theocritus and Sappho and 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 263 
 
 Mistral are types, in a certain degree, by which the 
 provincial tendencies of literary ambition may be 
 measured, just as Millet is a standard of the stature of 
 provincial art : aspiration in its healthiest form. Every- 
 where provincial life has, within certain limitation 
 of variation, the same influence upon the human mind 
 and soul. Who but the provincial gives himself up 
 wholly to his imagination and dwells in an ideal world? 
 Who but the provincial comes to verily believe that 
 his art, or his love, or his religion is the whole of life } 
 Who but the provincial regards fame as something 
 supremely precious, not for the power of it, not for its 
 glory in the vulgar and worldly view, but for rhe high, 
 serene ecstasy it brings to the soul ? Who but the 
 provincial wraps himself in dreams, as in a cocoon, 
 when the mood is on, and lives the very life of 
 romance ? It is all as it should be. Life in the great 
 cities, where love of culture takes the place of more 
 subtle aspiration and where the aspects of haman 
 nature are so varied and so near the observer's eye that 
 there is no perspective, no color, naturally develops a 
 microscopic vision and generates an analytical spirit, 
 like that of Balzac and his imitators, in literature and 
 art. But out in the provinces, or prairies, which means 
 the same, where space is wide and instances are few in 
 every line of experience, romance, in all its forms, 
 assaults the imagination and takes it captive. It is the 
 provincial who can lend his whole being to a fancy and 
 
264 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 throw into a dream the substance as well as the essence 
 of his life. Milford was happy, and the future seemed 
 to him a vast sphere of serene triumph. He was deep 
 in his reverie when Lawson entered, but he looked up 
 immediately, wondering what had brought his partner 
 in at such an hour, for Lawson had not been in the 
 office much of late. 
 
 If Milford expected to see some mark of excitement 
 in Lawson's face he was disappointed, for the young 
 man was smiling cheerfully and began whistling a 
 lively snatch from one of the revival tunes. These 
 tunes, indeed, were on every body's lips. 
 
 " Hello," he exclaimed, taking a chair near Milford ; 
 "give me a cigar; seeing you smoking so luxuriously 
 makes me hungry for one. WhereVe you been ? I 
 saw no light in here when I passed sometime ago." 
 
 " I went to the Goodword meeting," said Milford, 
 producing his cigar-case. " I dropped in here to rest 
 after the excitement." 
 
 " I went, but had to come away on account of a mat- 
 ter of business with McGinnis," remarked Lawson, 
 selecting a cigar. "That woman is a palpable fraud, a 
 mere adventuress, I'll bet my head on it. She should 
 be suppressed. Think of a fellow's mother or wife or 
 sister going on like that. Bah ! " 
 
 " She has power, I should say," Milford rejoined. 
 *' I never have seen another audience so stirred." 
 
 "Not much real power; it's mostly novelty; the 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 265 
 
 effect of seeing a woman up there, before a vast crowd 
 of people, bawling about heaven and hell, is enough 
 to stir a weak person's blood ; and most persons are 
 weak, you know. I call it obtaining religion under 
 false pretense, or rather under duress, to get it by 
 means of such a holy terror of exhortation, of howling 
 mourners, of furious singers and such a chorus of hand- 
 clappers abetted by that woman's blood-curdling hell- 
 pictures. It's a wonder that some of those excited 
 wretches don't go hopelessly insane — raving crazy." 
 
 "They are crazy for the time they are under the 
 spell of her personal influence, I suppose," said Mil- 
 ford. 
 
 '' Yes, it's something of the sort. All this great 
 power of oratory is mere animal force — physical 
 charm." 
 
 " I don't think so," said Milford. 
 
 " Well, it's so, whether you think so or not. It's so 
 with actors, orators, lecturers and singers. Don't you 
 know that Litta, our western prima donna, had the 
 charmingest voice that the world ever heard ? And yet, 
 poor girl, she could not fairly succeed because she was 
 not beautiful. Now Mrs. Goodword is a magnificent 
 animal, a little coarse, but that's all the better on the 
 platform, with a voice like a silver calliope and a man- 
 ner crudely but tellingly artistic ; and it's no secret to 
 me how she sets the country wild wherever she 
 goes." 
 
266 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 **Litta was beautiful beside a creature like that you 
 portray, but I do not think you do Mrs. Goodword 
 justice," said Milford. " Her subject is a grand one 
 and she evidently feels the importance of her work — 
 she is sincere, and sincerity is the secret of personal 
 force." 
 
 " Milford, you know better," exclaimed Lawson with 
 a laugh ; " take your own experience. Were you wholly 
 sincere in your terrible, almost brutal speech against 
 young Hempstead ? I never have heard more effective 
 oratory than that was, and you can't say your con- 
 science thoroughly approved the means you used." 
 
 " Thank you," exclaimed Milford. '* I couldn't 
 think of doubting your sincerity now. But there 
 was a secret spring to my enthusiasm on that 
 occasion." 
 
 "■ I know the secret and wish you great joy," Law- 
 son replied, a strange softness in his voice. " It must 
 be a great relief to you to know that Hempstead has 
 escaped." 
 
 *' Yes, it is ; and yet I suppose one ought not to 
 indulge such a feeling. I'm going to quit the practice 
 of the law ; legal methods of administering justice are 
 harassing to one's sense of human sympathy, they are 
 so many hot irons to one's conscience. I would rather 
 hew wood and draw water." 
 
 " Well, you can withdraw from the practice with 
 full knowledge of having been successful in it, so far as 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 267 
 
 you have gone," remarked Lawson, with suave compla- 
 cence. After a moment's silence, he uttered a little, 
 light laugh and added : " After all it wasn't any harm 
 to you the way I pushed myself into partnership with 
 you. It is real funny to think of though, isn't it ? 
 We've both prospered by it. Seems like a long time 
 ago, don't it ? Well, we've crowded a good deal into 
 life since then ; I have, at least. Humph ! what 
 strange luck I've had. But then I felt that I should 
 have it. Destiny was upon me ; as Napoleon would 
 have said : ' The God of Luck attended me.' " 
 
 '' You certainly have been of great service to me," 
 said Milford, with cordial promptness, " and I shall 
 always feel that I owe you a great debt." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, not at all. I am not to be thanked for 
 my ' cheek ' and luck. It makes me laugh to think 
 upon what preposterous freaks of chance I have won 
 my way. You deserve a thousand times more credit 
 than I 1 am a foot-ball of luck." 
 
 " I have been fortunate, too," said Milford, " very 
 fortunate, I know." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you have drawn the best prize in life's 
 lottery," rejoined Lawson, in atone meant to be cheer- 
 ful and sympathetic, but somehow his voice faltered 
 strangely. He got up and went to a window, then 
 turned about and came back. " It's all chance, any- 
 way, and we are fools for making much effort. I am 
 inclined to think that evil and good are congenital 
 
268 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 inflictions and must have their time to generate and 
 mature. I haven't had a thing to do with my career ; 
 it is the result of a chance hereditament. In me have 
 centered many long lines of hap-hazard, so to speak. 
 I've had no control. I deserve neither praise nor 
 blame. The leavens were in me, and they have fer- 
 mented, that's all." 
 
 Milford looked into Lawson's face and fancied he 
 saw under its half cynical mask the glow and turmoil 
 of passion and desperation. The thought that he had 
 never found out any thing whatever about Lawson's 
 family, his past life or former place of residence was 
 suddenly pointed and colored by what had just been 
 said. On the moment's impulse he asked : 
 
 " Are you in trouble, Lawson ? " 
 
 Lawson's face flushed quickly, but he laughed and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Why, yes, come to think of it, I am." He glanced 
 hurriedly at his watch and added : *' I've got to go to 
 Chicago on the eleven-five train and I forgot to tele- 
 graph for a berth in the sleeper, and the chance is that 
 I shall get no rest to-night." 
 
 " Blame your ancestors," remarked Milford, rising to 
 go. " It is their fault." 
 
 " Yes, I do. I damn them backward to the ninety- 
 and-ninth generation," Lawson responded, with bitter 
 levity. " I haven't a drop of honest, innocent blood 
 in my veins and never have had. Good-night." He 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 269 
 
 held out his hand and Milford took it, remarking as he 
 did so : 
 
 " You are in a mood to-night ; have the markets been 
 refractory ? Good luck to you. Good-night." 
 
 " If you see — when you go — well, I guess I'll not 
 say it, let it go as it is — good-night and a happy world, 
 old fellow ! " 
 
 They parted. Then, and not till then, did the 
 strangeness of Lawson's words and actions assert in 
 Milford's mind the significance it really bore. The 
 parting now seemed undoubtedly final, eternal. He 
 did not understand why this significance had escaped 
 him while the conversation was going on. 
 
 It was but a momentary impression, however, and 
 he flung it off as he walked to his room, turning his 
 thoughts back to the sweet love-dream and the rosy 
 atmosphere of the reverie from which Lawson had 
 called him. 
 
 Next morning McGinnis came to the law office and 
 asked for Lawson, and, when told that he had gone to 
 Chicago, seemed surprised, but made no comment. 
 This set Milford to thinking again of Lawson's strange 
 behavior at their parting. The impression grew in his 
 mind that some disaster, most probably financial, had 
 fallen, and that his partner had absconded. After 
 thinking it over throughout the day, he went to 
 McGinnis's office, hoping he would be able to learn 
 something further, but the banker was not in : he had 
 
270 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 gone North on a late morning train, the clerk said, and 
 would be home to-morrow evening. Milford felt at 
 times as if he ought to do something, he hardly knew 
 what, to ascertain the truth in regard to Lawson's 
 financial relations ; but when he came to consider the 
 thought in connection with the meager foundation of 
 facts in his possession, upon which to base even a 
 suspicion, he knew that he must rest silent until the 
 worst came, as, according to his feelings, come it must, 
 very soon. 
 
 That very day he had a letter from his publishers, 
 asking him to go into the South and write a novel. 
 
 " We want it written * on the spot,' as artists say, 
 and you must put the very South itself into it, barring 
 politics," went on the rather free-and-easy epistle. It 
 closed as follows : " How soon can we expect to see 
 the MS.? Can we count on having it by March ist? 
 You have taken the public by storm. We congratu- 
 late you." 
 
 With this letter in his hand, Milford called on 
 Marian, eager to have her share with him the pleasure 
 it brought. 
 
 " Suppose we give up the thought of being lawyers 
 and orators and set our ambition on this quieter, 
 sweeter line of life ? " he ventured boldly, as he gave 
 the volume of Kent's Commentaries a gentle push 
 aside, and spread the letter out on the table in its 
 place. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 27 1 
 
 '' Let's put our fancy, our imagination and our 
 highest purpose into doing what this letter asks." 
 
 She read in silence, then looked up into his face. 
 
 " Then you did write the new novel that has been 
 so highly praised ? Miss Crabb said so, but I could 
 not believe it," she exclaimed. *' I have just read it, 
 and — and — I don't like it a bit." 
 
 '' Then I deny doing it," he said, '' for you must like 
 every thing I do." 
 
 '* But did you write it?" she asked, as if afraid he 
 would say no. " Did you ? " 
 
 ** If you like it, I wrote it ; if you don't like it, some 
 other wretched fellow who is tired of the law, and 
 court-houses, and jails, and gibbets, is the author," he 
 responded, a deep feeling gathering in his voice. 
 ''And it is for you to say now, Marian, what shall be 
 my answer to this letter, and what shall be my whole 
 future." 
 
 " That puts a too heavy responsibility on me," she 
 said, *' I can't accept it." 
 
 Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes would not 
 seek his. 
 
 "Then suppose we divide it," he murmured; "you 
 decide for me and I'll decide for you." 
 
 She looked up quickly now, with a radiant smile and 
 just a little toss of her head. 
 
 " You are something of a lawyer yet," she exclaimed, 
 *' but I am not so easily caught." 
 
272 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 *'0h, well then, do as women always do," he 
 rejoined, *' have your own way about every thing. I'll 
 trust you to do about right. But what do you think 
 of the letter.?" 
 
 "The chirography is miserably scrawling and un- 
 sightly." 
 
 "But seriously? The question is a grave one. I 
 am in love with literature, but I will give it up — " 
 
 *' Not if you're in love with it," she interrupted ; 
 " love is not a thing to be cast off like a garment." 
 
 " True, but my love for you, Marian, can destroy 
 even my life." 
 
 He put his hand on hers and the letter was under- 
 neath. The window was open, and they heard the old 
 water-mill growling and grumbling away down by the 
 Wabash. She did not snatch away her hand, but there 
 was a far-off hint of willfulness in her voice as she 
 said : 
 
 "But you're not to make fun of women in your next 
 story. I don't like that ; it isn't just. 
 
 " And you are not to oppose my scheme for the 
 co-education of the sexes in the college," she gravely 
 went on. " And if your next book fails, you are to 
 return at once to the practice of the law." 
 
 " I think it would be so charming to have your help 
 in writing this new story," he persisted, passing her 
 conditions by, and moving his chair nearer to hers. " I 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 273 
 
 think you could keep out all those objectionable 
 things, and then, and then — " his voice deepened and 
 shook with the intensity of his feeling ; " you will be a 
 new and inexhaustible inspiration, filling my creations 
 with the very soul of all that is high and sweet, and 
 pure and good. Come with me and make my life an 
 idyl ! " 
 
 *' Upon one further condition," she said, looking 
 shyly sidewise at him, still smiling half willfully : " If 
 I get tired of literature, I am to return to Kent and 
 Blackstone." 
 
 " Yes, yes, when you get tired, Marian ; but that 
 will be when you are tired of me. 
 
 " I am the most fortunate and the happiest man in 
 all the world," he continued, after a short pause during 
 which the rumbling of the distant mill was again audi- 
 ble. " With your love to glorify my life and with free- 
 dom from the worry of a detestable profession " 
 
 She put a hand on his lips. 
 
 "Don't say that," she cried ; " I haven't quite given 
 it up yet — I may not give it up at all ; it has been a 
 precious, fascinating ambition. I can not be happy 
 looking forward to the life of a little old woman." 
 
 ** My wife will never be a little old woman," he said, 
 in the tone of one making a sacred oath. *' Who that 
 loves and is loved is always young and beautiful, is 
 always grand and strong." 
 
 Just then a farm wagon, one of those big vehicles 
 
2 74 A BANKER OF BANKER SVILLE. 
 
 used for hauling corn, wheat and other country prod- 
 uce to town, but also turned at need to serve the pur- 
 poses of a carriage or coach, went rattling along the 
 street, returning to the country loaded with some young 
 men and women who were going home from one of 
 Mrs. Goodword's meetings. The spirit of the revival 
 was upon them and they were singing in loud, clear 
 voices : 
 
 " Love is the sweetest bud that blows, 
 Its beauties never die, 
 On earth among the saints it grows 
 And blossoms in the sky." 
 
 The clash and clack and rattle of the great vehicle 
 and the clarion strains of the strong, healthy voices re- 
 minded the listeners of what a power Mrs. Goodword 
 was wielding — it was the chariot of her influence pass- 
 ing by. After all, her labors had not been in vain. 
 
XIX. 
 
 WHEN the telegraphic dispatch came to Bankers- 
 ville announcing that McGinnis, the banker, 
 had committed suicide in Chicago, the news flashed 
 over the town almost instantaneously. The thrilling 
 fact without any details was all that could be found 
 out for some time ; but at length a rumor got abroad 
 of financial complications, then frauds were discovered, 
 misappropriation of funds, alterations of bank accounts, 
 mutilation of books. Men began to look uneasily at 
 one another as they walked swiftly to and fro from 
 place to place in search of information, for in many a 
 breast there had rested for some time a half-formed 
 fear that under the surface of Bankersville's apparent 
 prosperity lay the germ of destruction. 
 
 The banks at first tried to cover up the facts, hoping 
 to avoid a crash, but early on the morning following 
 the announcement of the suicide, a run was begun on 
 all of them by depositors, and the doors of all but one 
 promptly closed. A scene followed, or rather a suc- 
 cession of scenes, quite beyond description. It was as 
 if some devil's rival of Mrs. Goodword had begun a 
 counter excitement, which by its first impulse had in- 
 
270 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 gulfed the town. Throngs of men and women, old, 
 young, middle-aged, richly clad, poorly clad, some in 
 tatters, all wild, crying, cursing, shouting, gesticulat- 
 ing, besieged the closed doors of the banks, struggling, 
 frothing, demanding, beseeching, frantic as a herd of 
 wild cattle when surrounded by wolves. 
 
 Among those who, though gravely affected by the 
 situation, kept calm and cool-headed, the question : 
 Where is Lawson ? was circulated under their breath ; 
 for if he, too, had been into these frauds, if he, too, 
 had failed, then were they ruined indeed. Two 
 of their number, men of energy and experience, were 
 sent forthwith to Chicago to learn the particulars, 
 for it was in Chicago and not in Bankersville that 
 the secrets were hidden. This pains was need- 
 less, however, as within the next few hours all was 
 made public. Lawson was the king culprit ; the 
 colossal schemes by which the entire financial struc- 
 ture of Bankersville had been wrecked were all his. 
 Poor McGinnis had been a mere tool, so they said, now 
 that the banker was dead. We never think of fairness in 
 such cases ; the dead go free, the living must bear all 
 the load. Perhaps the spirit of this is right, for so long as 
 the dead leave nothing but their good behind, evil does 
 not accumulate beyond our power to bear it ; but what 
 would become of us if the dead all left us their wrong- 
 doings as a constantly increasing deposit added to our 
 own stores of sin and shame? What a world this 
 
A BACKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 277 
 
 would be now if the corruption of men's souls had not 
 been, from the dawn of time, buried with their corrupt 
 bodies ! 
 
 Where is Lawson ? The question grew more and 
 more insistent, until it came to be uttered like a curse. 
 There was a time when, if he could have been found, 
 he would have been torn to pieces by maddened men 
 who had trusted their fortunes in his hands. 
 
 Two or three days elapsed, each successive hour dis- 
 closing new and distressing features of the predica- 
 ment, but not a hint of Lawson's whereabouts could be 
 obtained. 
 
 The one bank which had steered clear of specula- 
 tion, and other entangling financial webs, stemmed the 
 panic without much trouble, and it was in this bank 
 that Milford had his deposit, consequently he lost 
 little by the frauds and recklessness of his partner ; 
 but his good luck brought him trouble quite as bitter 
 as a total wreck of his little fortune could have done. 
 It was the most natural thing in the world for people 
 to come to him for news of Lawson and to feel angry 
 when he could give them none. 
 
 ** He's as deep in the mud as Lawson is in the 
 mire," they began to say ; and when it became pretty 
 generally known that his deposit was safe, a great cry 
 arose against him. 
 
 All kinds of rumors got afloat as to his participation 
 in Lawson's ruinous schemes of speculation. One 
 
278 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 asserted that he had a vast sum of money in the 
 undisturbed bank as his part of the profit from all 
 those fraudulent transactions ; another alleged that he 
 was getting ready to leave the country; and still 
 another charged him with a knowledge of Lawson's 
 whereabouts. Men came to him in their desperation 
 with insulting words and threatening gestures, charg- 
 ing him with complicity in the wrecking of their hopes 
 and the ruin of their fortunes. Women reproached 
 him in the most bitter and distressing ways. In fact 
 it was a reign of terror for a whole week before people 
 began to see with their eyes and hear with their ears, 
 instead of being led deaf and blind by passion ; but 
 the calm was bitterer than the storm. Few persons 
 in Bankersville had escaped loss ; the financial tissue of 
 the town was honey-combed with the track of the 
 bolt, so to speak, leaving properties and securities in 
 a deplorable state of weakness and doubt. Some of 
 the leading business men were ruined and forced to 
 assign ; but the most pathetic feature of the situation 
 was the fact that many poor people had lost the little 
 they had laid up against the coming winter when they 
 could not earn much. There were special instances of 
 the most heart-rending nature, but a picture of them 
 could serve no purpose here. Wherever a bank has 
 failed, or a man of great influence in financial circles 
 has proved recreant to the trust reposed in him, such 
 instances have been observed. Usually, as in the case 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 279 
 
 of Bankersville, the gambling mania is the cause of 
 these local cataclysms, and many of the keenest 
 sufferers are individuals who have themselves rested 
 wholly unaware of the danger up to the very 
 moment when the bolt fell. But, on the other hand, 
 the great mass of the injured is all the more furious 
 because it has known all the time that it was playing 
 with fire and has been half expecting to be burned. 
 Those who play with the beautiful, iridescent bubble 
 called a bucket-shop, know that sooner or later that 
 fascinating film must burst, letting go the subtle 
 essence of financial ruin with which it is distended ; 
 still they play on, hoping to be able to realize their 
 fortune of gold and get away before the catastrophe 
 comes, leaving others to reap the death they have 
 escaped. The celebrated gambling centers of Europe 
 are mere pigmies in their influence beside the bucket- 
 shops of any middle Western state. 
 
 When it had been ascertained that, directly or indi- 
 rectly, Lawson was responsible for the ruin of Bank- 
 ersville's credit, honor and exchequer, men put their 
 heads together to bring him to justice, and the court 
 lent its aid. Indictments were found against him by 
 the grand jury of the county. Detectives were 
 employed, even some of Pinkerton's, and a systematic 
 effort was made to track him down. An association 
 of citizens offered a large reward for his capture, and 
 the county commissioners did likewise. 
 
28o A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLB. 
 
 It did not particularly interest Bankersville when it 
 came to light that Lawson had been one of the chief 
 agents in perfecting and carrying out the scheme by 
 which the markets of the East had been flooded with 
 illegal Indiana Township bonds, but it may have made 
 the detectives all the more alert and eager when sev- 
 eral counties joined in advertising additional rewards 
 on this account. 
 
 Milford, who felt that he must firmly face the sus- 
 picion which, on account of his partnership with Law- 
 son, had so unjustly arisen, remained in his office day 
 after day, and met as best he could whatever came up. 
 His situation was a distressing one under all the cir- 
 cumstances, and it required all his nerve, presence of 
 mind and moral fortitude to preserve his own dignity 
 and self-respect, and at the same time avoid the 
 troubles continually provoked by the bitter feeling of 
 those who had suffered so deeply at Lawson's hands. 
 At any moment during office hours he might expect 
 some one to come in and subject him to the most 
 harassing catechism touching what he knew and what 
 he did not know in connection with Lawson*s affairs. 
 Some persons were brutal, some sly and cunning, 
 others tearful, and yet others pathetically doleful in 
 their way of approaching him. He would have shut 
 up his office and gone away, had not his pride forbid- 
 den it. Even Downs and Mrs. O'Slaughtery brought 
 to him the burden of their great trouble, for they were 
 
A BANKER OF BAXKERSVILLE. 281 
 
 compelled to postpone their wedding to an indefinite 
 day on account of having lost the little money they 
 had hoarded up. 
 
 " He was a very Satan of a mane mon, yer partner, 
 Misther Milford, an' ye ought to be ashamed of 'im," 
 cried the inconsolable landlady. " But thin ye're not 
 at all to blame, Misther Milford, not at all ; only I 
 don't see how ye iver bore the loikes of 'im, so I don't. 
 He always had a shape-thayfe grin on his great beefy 
 face, an' I just thought all the toime : there's a snakin', 
 undermoining scalawag for ye." 
 
 " Well, why didn't you warn Mr. Milford, if you 
 know'd it?" Downs demanded, almost petulantly. 
 " If I'd 'a dremp o' such a thing you better bet I'd 'a 
 told him quick." 
 
 " Yis, yis, if ye'd 'a draymed o' any thing whativer, 
 but thin ye didn't at all ; ye niver do see any thing till 
 ye've gone past it altogither an' happen to look back," 
 she cried. "Ye're a very noice mon, ye are, to be 
 talkin' about what ye'd 'a done whin ye niver was 
 known to do any thing but jist jabber an' blow about 
 what you would 'a done if ye'd 'a happened to 'a 
 thought of it ! " She was too much excited to correct 
 her pronunciation or smooth down her brogue. 
 
 Downs laughed indulgently, giving her the half- 
 deprecating, half-admiring look which some parents 
 accord to spoiled children. 
 
 "Ah, yes, Mrs. O'Slaughtery," he remarked, with 
 
282 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 raised eyebrows and a beseeching smile, his whole 
 face beaming with a kind of comic regret and pathos ; 
 " if every body could be like you this world 'd be dif- 
 ferent, very different indeed." 
 
 Milford bore every thing with a commendable degree 
 of philosophic calmness, even the comments and sug- 
 gestions printed editorially in the Scar. That Ish- 
 maelitish newspaper, not being able to solve the 
 mystery of the appearance and disappearance of the 
 strange old man who had been so familiar with Law- 
 son, now turned the stream of its vituperation upon 
 Milford, with a malignancy as subtle as it was abomin- 
 able. Here are a few characteristic samples of the 
 Scars shorter paragraphs : 
 
 *' Scratch a rebel and you'll soon find a scoundrel." 
 
 " A man who will betray his country will betray his 
 friends." 
 
 *' Bankersville has hugged vipers and got stung." 
 
 **The still sow drinks the swill. We dare say that 
 the absconder, Lawson, left a silent partner behind." 
 
 " How could Lawson do what he has done without 
 a confidential friend ? Can't the people of Bankers- 
 ville see an inch before their noses ? " 
 
 Every body understood these allusions, although 
 Milford's name was not used. Of course the Scar, as 
 a Western journal, no matter how degenerate and 
 fallen, must give a humorous turn to its pet theme, 
 now and then. 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 283 
 
 " The bucket-shop racket," it remarked, with a com- 
 placency that was visible in the type. " The bucket- 
 shop racket has ceased in Bankersville, and most of us 
 are sucking our burned fingers during such time as we 
 are not lifting our hats to the * honnahble gentleman, 
 sah/ who set up the job on us. We can't afford to 
 stone fools now, for in that case every skull in Bankers- 
 ville would have a donnick bouncing off it." 
 
 During the time that the excitement was at its flood, 
 Milford was called upon by one of the committee 
 appointed to solicit money to aid in the capture of 
 Lawson. This was a square-set, stout, bald-headed 
 man, whose face was red, and whose eyes were as keen 
 as those of a fox. 
 
 " I have called to ask you to subscribe to our fund 
 for the apprehension of Chester Lawson," he blurted, 
 extending a paper toward Milford. ** We think it's a 
 matter that every body is interested in, and all should 
 bear a part of the expense. Put down whatever you 
 can afford, Mr. Milford," 
 
 The proposition was so unexpected that it astounded 
 Milford, and for a moment he was blank and silent. 
 
 '* I can not take any part in this movement, sir," he 
 presently found voice to say. *' I should think you 
 might have spared me the occasion to — to " 
 
 "You don't mean to say you won't give anything?" 
 the committee-man interrupted, almost gruffly. " You 
 can't afford to put yourself in that attitude." 
 
284 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " I beg to be the judge of what attitude I dare 
 assume," Milford coldly and precisely remarked ; "and 
 I certainly mean that I will have nothing whatever to 
 do with your subscription." 
 
 ''Well, I'll be dumbed eternally, Mr. Milford," 
 blustered the old gentleman, spitefully refolding his 
 paper; *' I never would have thought it! They said 
 it was so, but I didn't listen to it, I couldn't 
 believe it." 
 
 ''Said what? Couldn't believe what?" demanded 
 Milford, rising from his seat and bending a look of ter- 
 rible anger on the face of his visitor. 
 
 "Oh, I've got no quarrel with you, Mr. Milford; if 
 you refuse, that's all I've got to know ; but I'd think, 
 under all the circumstances " 
 
 " What circumstances ? " 
 
 " Well, there's been a good deal said, and you're his 
 partner, and then you were a rebel, and " 
 
 " Go right out of this room," thundered Milford. 
 "Out with you ! 
 
 "Shall I lead you out by the ear?" he added, mak- 
 ing a step toward the slowly retreating committee-man 
 and lifting his hand with the thumb and forefinger 
 close together. The man retired. 
 
 This incident was quickly circulated through the 
 streets of Bankersville, gaining a little touch of addi- 
 tional sinister import with each telling. Milford 
 regretted, almost instantly, his hasty action, but there 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 285 
 
 was no way in which he could modify its effect. He 
 had many and warm friends, but just now they were 
 too much absorbed in their own losses, present or 
 prospective, or too much affected by the common 
 excitement, to stop and make an effort to set the pub- 
 lic mind right upon a personal question. 
 
 Of course this state of things could not last. The 
 citizens of Bankersville were for the most part worthy, 
 honorable, fair-minded, and it was but a matter of 
 time when they would resume a just equilibrium of 
 judgment ; but this was not very consoling to Mil- 
 ford, as day after day he was subjected to annoyances 
 which could not have been borne under any different 
 circumstances. 
 
 The Scar kept up its assaults, growing more face- 
 tious and more bold as popular rumor aided its pur- 
 pose, and the committee redoubled the efforts for 
 Lawson's capture. 
 
 " They're going to git that man Lawson," said 
 Downs, " if he's on the top of earth. They're a-rakin' 
 the whole continent with a fine-tooth comb, an' 
 a-reachin' for 'im from long taw in every direction. 
 If they do git 'im he's a gone goslin', an' don't you 
 forgit it." 
 
 '' Do you mean that he would be " 
 
 '' Lynched ? " interrupted Downs, taking the word 
 from Milford's mouth. "Yes, sir-ee, that he would, 
 an' he ought to be ; he's worse'n a murderer ; he's 
 
286 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 worse'n any thing; he lost me seven hundred and 
 forty-odd dollars and thirty-five cents, dern 'im ! " 
 
 " Mercy, and yis ; besides, he got away wid nearly 
 foive hundred of moine, the villain ! " chimed in Mrs. 
 O'Slaughtery, " an' I hope he'll be stritched as high 
 as a stayple." 
 
 Milford found that many persons in Bankersville 
 entertained the views thus expressed, and it at length 
 became fixed in his mind that if Lawson were cap- 
 tured and brought back, he would be in great danger 
 of falling a victim to 'Mynch law." It seemed that 
 this revengeful feeling grew apace with the constantly 
 increasing probability that Lawson had found some 
 safe retreat. 
 
 At last the newspapers asserted, and there was no 
 room left to doubt, that the criminal was in a certain 
 city of Canada, a paradise of a class of malefactors 
 absconding from the United States ; and it would follow, 
 of course, that, on account of the imperfect interna- 
 tional extradition treaty, his arrest would be impossible, 
 or, at least, futile. 
 
 It was a great relief to Milford, despite his conscious- 
 ness of the demand of justice, to think that Lawson 
 would not be brought back. He felt that in the event 
 of an extreme act of mob violence, the great public 
 crime would work more harm than would Lawson's 
 escape from punishment. Scarcely had the public 
 become somewhat reconciled to this phase of the situa- 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 287 
 
 tion, however, when one morning it was flashed over 
 the wires to the associated press that Chester Lawson, 
 the defaulter, swindler and forger, had been found and 
 arrested in a small village of Michigan. This gave 
 peculiar emphasis to pubJ'V feeling, as the desire for 
 revenge leaped anew in many hearts. 
 
Xx. 
 
 MARIAN was passing through this exciting episode 
 of Bankersville history in a state of mind far 
 from comfortable. Without understanding its true 
 spirit and import, she was conscious of the ill feeling 
 existing in the community against Milford, on account 
 of his partnership with Lawson, and she saw with 
 alarm that her father was greatly affected. 
 
 Miss Crabb brought all the news to the house, her 
 volatile renderings often lending to certain phases of 
 the situation a highly colored, if not exaggerated 
 effect. She remained a warm defender of Milford, 
 however, throughout the period of confusion and dis. 
 tress, bringing the whole power of her tongue and her 
 pen to his aid. It was a part of her creed that the 
 world persecutes literary people for mere persecution's 
 sake, and she for one felt bound to strike back. She 
 was loyal to her friends, and though she admitted the 
 enormity of Lawson's crimes, she could not keep from 
 her memory the many kind turns he had done for her 
 just at the times when she most needed a friend. Nor 
 was Miss Crabb's attitude in this regard an isolated 
 one ; the recipients of favors at Lawson's hands were 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 289 
 
 not few or without influence in Bankersville. Many 
 a good person, even while the popular clamor made 
 any public expression of sympathy with the great 
 culprit too dangerous to be risked, secretly felt an 
 indescribable interest in him and fervently prayed that 
 he might escape the vengeance of the law. Indeed it 
 is strange how deep and insistent is the under swell of 
 sympathy for this or that criminal, in a community 
 where on the surface nothing but an almost unrea- 
 soning and quite vindictive and revengeful spirit is 
 observable. 
 
 It is not doubted by those who have had wide oppor- 
 tunities to study the subject, that very frequently men 
 have been lynched by a crowd of persons, many of 
 whom were inwardly protesting while outwardly they 
 were the most clamorous of all for the life of the vic- 
 tim. In other words the mob, no matter how great its 
 numbers, or how respectable the individual m.embers 
 of it, never represents the deep, honest, earnest feelings 
 of a community. Riots and tumultuous acts of vio- 
 lence in the name of law and order are always the 
 expression of a superficial public feeling induced by the 
 dangerous stimulus of brute passion. Usually it 
 happens, in the case of any dangerous demonstration 
 by a greatly excited body of men, that unless the way 
 is open directly to violent and precipitate action at the 
 supreme moment, a wave of the under swell gets to the 
 surface and the excitement subsides. 
 
290 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 After the terrible scenes of tumult and rage and 
 agony had softened down a great deal in Bankersville, 
 and people had begun to shape their lines to the new 
 order of things, there was not a little self-blame uttered 
 by many of the best citizens, whose consciences hurt 
 them on account of certain profits they had from time 
 to time reaped in Lawson's bucket-shop. What they 
 had been wont to call dealing in wheat and corn, and 
 pork and lard, they now roundly denounced as gam- 
 bling of the vilest order. Of course, no individual felt 
 bound to particularize at all ; the remarks were of the 
 most general nature and were meant to suit the col- 
 lective body of Bankersville trespassers. This was a 
 concession to self-love, if not self-respect, which was 
 not recognized by the pulpit orators of the stricken 
 little city, who took occasion to preach fearlessly upon 
 the evils of a fast, money-hunting life, and to animad- 
 vert on the dreadful disintegration of moral fiber made 
 evident by recent disclosures. The people were 
 plainly told that from sowing the wind they had come 
 to reaping the whirlwind, and that they had no one to 
 blame but themselves. Unpalatable as this whole- 
 some doctrine certainly was to many, it nevertheless 
 had the effect of setting thoughtful people in the way 
 of recovering that philosophical equipoise out of which 
 would come sane views of the situation and the abil- 
 ity to profit by a sad and bitter experience. Slowly 
 but surely the judgment of a majority in any com- 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 291 
 
 munity will regulate itself by the dictates of righteous- 
 ness and set a proper estimate on the influences which 
 have induced a given state of affairs. But the public 
 mind is quite as inscrutable as the individual mind, 
 and often changes as suddenly. The news that Law- 
 son had been captured and would be brought to 
 Bankersville in the hands of the successful detectives, 
 set the town wild again. Business was suspended in a 
 great degree in order to discuss the event, and men 
 rushed together in groups that soon swelled into 
 crowds. The second excitement seemed to bid fair to 
 be more dangerous than the first. It was like one of 
 those dreadful and unexpected relapses in sickness, 
 whereby the symptoms of the disease return in an 
 aggravated form. 
 
 " Oh, have you heard the news ? " demanded Miss 
 Crabb, with something more than her usual impetu- 
 osity. She was breathless and flurried, and she 
 dropped into a chair with her hands spread out and 
 extended toward Marian : palms uppermost, her shoul- 
 ders raised, and her chin drawn back. '^ They have 
 come with Mr. Lawson, and he's in jail ; and oh, there's 
 such a crowd down there, and such wild excitement 
 and horrid talk! I do think men are the most brutal 
 things, don't you? They're going to lynch him, 
 Marian, I just know they are ! They are swearing 
 awfully and howling like wolves and squeezing them- 
 selves all up together into a solid mass around the jail. 
 
292 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Some are trying to quiet the rest and save him ; others 
 are demanding instant execution ; and oh, it's fearful, 
 aw — w — ful, hor — r — rid ! " 
 
 " What do you say ? Do you mean that they are 
 going to — to — to do something awful down there, 
 710W ? " Marian cried, springing to her feet and putting 
 a hand on Miss Crabb's shoulder. " Are they really 
 going to — will they dare do so heinous a thing ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes ; and oh, Marian, he's crippled, too ; 
 hurt by a railroad accident, and can't help himself ! It's 
 a shame, a burning shame ! I saw the poor man, look- 
 ing so haggard, with a bandage on his head and his 
 arm in a sling. Oh, I felt so sorry for him, so sorry, 
 sorry for him as they hurried him into the jail to get 
 him away from that awful mob ! " 
 
 Dr. Wilton came in from the library, having over- 
 heard a part of what Miss Crabb had said. His glasses 
 were awry on his nose. 
 
 *' Father, I'm going down there," Marian exclaimed 
 in a tone of the utmost firmness. " This dreadful 
 thing must not be done; it shall not be done ! " She 
 hurriedly caught up her little street hat, which she had 
 cast aside when Miss Crabb came in, and without 
 another word darted out of the house and went swiftly 
 through the little gate and down the street. Dr. Wil- 
 ton and Miss Crabb followed her, greatly excited and 
 calling to her to stop ; but she went on, almost run- 
 ning. 
 
A BANKER OF BAXKERSVILLE. 293 
 
 **What can the child mean? " puffed the doctor, as 
 he managed with great difficulty to keep up with Miss 
 Crabb. 
 
 " She's excited, exasperated," was the energetic 
 answer. "Oh, those brutes, those men, those — ** she 
 could not keep breath enough to finish the sentence. 
 
 " Dear me, this is extraordinary, this is, is ridicu- 
 lous ! " exclaimed Dr. Wilton. " Marian, Marian," he 
 called, but she did not hear him. " Marian, my 
 child ! " 
 
 " She's going right to the jail," remarked Miss 
 Crabb, " I know she is, she's going to save him. That's 
 what she said she was going to do." 
 
 " Well, well, well, I do think, this is outrageous ! " 
 cried Dr. Wilton, allowing his excitement to get the 
 better of him for the moment. " Marian, Marian, I 
 command you to stop, instantly ! " 
 
 But she was far beyond reach of his voice now, and 
 he began to feel the effect of his exertion. All this 
 would have been a very extraordinary scene in Bankers- 
 ville and would have attracted much notice and com- 
 ment had it not been that the whole town was stirred 
 to the utmost by what was going on elsewhere. 
 
 " Marian knows how to take care of herself ; never 
 fear for her," said Miss Crabb, in a consolatory tone, as 
 she slackened her pace so as not to leave Dr. Wilton 
 behind. " She'll not run into any danger — there's 
 nobody that would hurt her." 
 
294 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 " I can't see what she does mean," remarked Dr. 
 Wilton in a more subdued voice ; " it isn't a bit like her, 
 not a bit in the world, to go off like this. She must 
 be greatly wrought up — dreadfully excited." 
 
 "Oh, she is, she is!" cried Miss Crabb, growing 
 nervous again as her companion appeared to get 
 calmer, '* she's just wild to think they'd do so. I don't 
 wonder at it either ; it's blood-curdling. I don't see 
 what makes men so brutal, and mean, and despicable." 
 
 " How could the child ever dream of any thing so 
 wild, so foolish, so improper!" panted Dr. Wilton. 
 " But it's just like her, just like all women, going off 
 at a tangent in this sort of way." 
 
 They soon came in sight of a dense crowd of men 
 packed in front of the rather imposing and not at all 
 gloomy looking jail, which was more like a Queen 
 Anne cottage than like a residence for a criminal. A 
 silence, ominous enough considering the occasion, 
 rested upon the streets of Bankersville ; even the black, 
 motionless crowd seemed to have no voice. 
 
 Marian's heart failed her when she came as close to 
 the jail as the solid wall of men would permit. She 
 stopped and looked, overcome by a sudden sense of 
 her helplessness, and blushed at the thought of how 
 foolish had been her purpose in coming here. Hov/ 
 utterly had vanished from her brain the heroic deter- 
 mination to address all this vast crowd in behalf of 
 law and order ! What could she do ? She shrank 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 295 
 
 back timidly, as a burly man near her began swearing 
 and cursing most blasphemously. Now and again the 
 crowd swayed clumsily with a sort of wallowing motion. 
 The fact was that a strong body of men, well armed 
 and under control of the sheriff's deputy, was guarding 
 the jail, while the corps of policemen acted as an 
 auxiliary check upon violence or disorder by patroll- 
 ing the spaces on the flanks of the crowd. The offi- 
 cers were proceeding firmly but very cautiously, 
 fearing that any mistake in the direction of either 
 slackness or over show of authority and force might 
 precipitate a calamity ; their experience making 
 them realize that a chance breath could change curi- 
 osity and mere aimless excitement in a case like this 
 into the most dreadful phase of human passion and 
 unreason. 
 
 Dr. Wilton and Miss Crabb could not find Marian, 
 though they wandered all round the fringe of the 
 crowd, looking eagerly and excitedly about for her. 
 The old man was growing nervous in the extreme ; but 
 he was not more pale than the men he met hurrying 
 this way and that, as if bewildered. 
 
 " Where can she be ? where can she have gone to ? 
 Dear me, she's in the greatest danger ; it's dreadful, 
 dreadful ! " he exclaimed, in petulant fretfulness, 
 bustling hither and thither. Miss Crabb holding on to 
 his sleeve. 
 
 They presently met Milford, who had been trying 
 
296 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 vainly to get through the crowd to the jail. He was 
 calm, but pale, looking as if he felt a great weight of 
 responsibility or danger and were ready to meet it. 
 
 *' Oh, Mr. Milford, Mr. Milford ! " cried Miss Crabb, 
 grabbing his arm with a nervous, feminine clutch, " we 
 are so glad to see you, so glad ! Have you seen any 
 thing of Marian— Miss Wilton ? " 
 
 " Marian ! Miss Wilton ! " he echoed, glancing 
 quickly from the editor to Dr. Wilton, as if shaking off 
 a cloud from his mind. 
 
 "Yes, have you seen her ? She came here ; we've 
 lost her, we're looking for her — she's dreadfully 
 excited ! " exclaimed Miss Crabb. " She surely can't 
 be in the midst of this awful mob of men? " 
 
 " It's remarkable, extraordinary — it's — I — I — I don*t 
 know what to think ! " stammered the old man, look- 
 ing anxiously at Milford, his long, silky white beard 
 quivering strangely. 
 
 " She ran right out of the house just the instant she 
 heard that Mr. Lawson was in danger," Miss Crabb 
 went on without a pause, "saying that she was going 
 to save him, and we couldn't stop her, or catch up with 
 her, or any thing at all, and she's gone — we can't find 
 her. Oh, it's just awful ! " 
 
 About this time the crowd swayed wildly, and a 
 great bellowing, buzzing murmur ran through It, fol- 
 lowed by a multitudinous clamor. 
 
 " There he is ! There he is!" shouted the many 
 
A BA.YKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 297 
 
 voices of the surging mass. " Look at him! Look ! 
 Look ! " 
 
 Lawson, accompanied by the jailer, had stepped 
 forth from an upper window of the jail and now stood 
 out on an iron balcony high above the heads of the 
 crowd. His head was uncovered, save that a slender 
 white bandage ran around it, just above the brows, 
 and his right arm rested in a sling. It was generally 
 known that, while trying to escape into Canada from 
 Chicago, he had been hurt in a railway accident in 
 Michigan, and that for a long time he had lain in an 
 obscure farm-house while the detectives were hunting 
 for him everywhere else. He leaned over the iron rail- 
 ing of the balcony and waved his unhurt hand grace- 
 fully, just as if he were responding to a serenade. The 
 old, half-boyish smile was on his smooth, heavy 
 face. 
 
 ** Fellow-citizens !" he cried in a strong, mellow voice : 
 " I had not expected to see so many of you out upon 
 this very interesting occasion. For an impromptu 
 gathering, this certainly does credit to Bankersville 
 and great honor to me. I presume that you have con- 
 cluded to do me a high favor — a lofty turn — to give a 
 sort of lift, in other words, to my career! " 
 
 "Yes, d — n you, we're going to hang you ! " shouted 
 a voice, and then followed a great noise and confusion. 
 The sheriff's posse and the police redoubled their 
 efforts. 
 
298 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 Every body would have wondered why the jailer 
 had brought Lawson out in sight of the crowd, if 
 every body had not been too much excited to wonder 
 at any thing. The secret of it was that Lawson had the 
 jailer under his thumb. 
 
 " You do as I tell you, or I'll tell the whole story of 
 Billy Hempstead's escape from here, do you compre- 
 hend ? " he had said to that worthy, with an air that 
 made the threat very emphatic. " I want to talk to 
 that mob. There's not a speck of danger. I know 
 the people of Bankersville ; take me out, I say ! They're 
 a set of cowards down there ; they don't know what 
 they're about." 
 
 The jailer had bolted all the doors on the inside, 
 leaving the guard in the corridors and on the outside 
 of the building. It took but little persuasion, of the 
 kind resorted to by Lawson, to have its effect. 
 
 During the spasm of commotion that shook the 
 crowd at the end of the paragraph of his speech, as 
 above set forth, Lawson leaned a little further over the 
 railing, bowing and smiling and waving his hand. The 
 crowd saw his eyes flash. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you'll hang me, of course you will," he 
 presently thundered out. *' I always knew you would 
 hang me whenever my luck turned. Any man ought 
 to be hanged who suffers bad luck to overtake him. As 
 the boys say : I ought to have had better luck ! " 
 
 Somebody laughed, somebody cursed, somebody 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 299 
 
 yelled out: "Grit to the bone, dern ef he ain't!" 
 There was another great turmoil. 
 
 "Yes, I'm grit to the bone, and don't you forget 
 it ! " cried Lawson, his voice pealing clear and strong; 
 " and if I had my other arm all right I could thrash the 
 ground with any two of you in a minute ! " 
 
 " And you bet he could do it, too ! " bawled a raucous 
 voice from the midst of the crowd. " I'd hate to tackle 
 'im ! " 
 
 " But unfortunately for me, and greatly to your de- 
 light," Lawson continued, " I am crippled and weak, 
 and in your power, and of course you'll hang me. I 
 don't ask you not to hang me ; but before you begin 
 the fun, permit me the privilege of a few parting words 
 to all my friends, won't you ? Oh, of course you will. 
 I have not a great deal to say. IVe been unfortunate ; 
 but I'm here to say to you that I'm no coward and no 
 thief, and further, if this community will pay me what 
 it owes me, I can settle every claim against me and 
 have a competence left over. Listen to me, you men 
 who purpose to hang me, listen : Tell the city of 
 Bankersville to sell the fine park I donated, and pay 
 the proceeds to those who have lost by me ! Ought 
 the city to keep that park and let my creditors suffer? 
 Go to your church-people and tell them that Lawson 
 has given them, alltogether, forty thousand dollars 
 that ought to have gone to pay men to whom he owed 
 just debts. Go to your college, that splendid Christian 
 
300 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 institution whose spires rise above the woodsy campus 
 yonder, and say to its trustees and faculty : Lawson 
 gave you a large sum of money which he gambled for 
 in Chicago, and which should have been used to keep 
 his honor good ; go, give it to his suffering creditors. 
 Ah, you're quiet now ; you don't yell and froth now ; 
 you're beginning to listen and to thinkand to be ashamed 
 of yourselves. How many of you begin to recollect 
 that you have some property that you paid for with 
 money won in my bucket-shop? Don't all speak at 
 once ! How many of you have I helped to get a start 
 in business.^ Oh, hang your heads and keep silent, I 
 don't want any of you to expose yourselves, I don't 
 mean to whine for sympathy, but I want you to do 
 right. I want you to credit me with what you owe me 
 and then hang me for what's left over to my debit. Do 
 you really think your churches ought to keep forty 
 thousand dollars of my ill-gotten gains, while men of 
 whom I borrowed money are made beggars ? Will 
 Christians consent to it? Can your great institution of 
 learning afford to keep the bonds I gave it and con- 
 tinue to cut off the coupons in the name of a high civil- 
 ization, while poor widows whom I can not pay become 
 inmates of the county alms-house ? Hang me if you 
 please, and as soon as you please, but don't forget 
 where my money went, don't forget that what I have 
 given away in your midst, for your city, your college, 
 your churches and your charities, would pay all I owe 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. ZO\ 
 
 and more. Give me credit, that's all I ask. Now a 
 word more. I've had the Bankersville papers regularly 
 since I've been gone, and I have seen that your lying 
 editors have been trying to heap my sins upon the 
 head of Mr. Milford, my law-partner. I say to you 
 that he is as innocent of any knowledge of my 
 doings, or of any share in my profits or losses in 
 speculation, as any child in this city. What do you 
 want to impugn him for ? He hasn't done any thing. I 
 thrashed a few editors hereabouts one day, and I'd like 
 to do it again, and I would if I were strong and free ! " 
 He paused a moment, and lifting himself to his fullest 
 stature, raised his voice still higher, sending it to the 
 outer rim of the audience. " Come on up here with your 
 rope and hang me, I'm ready, I'll never flinch ; but 
 stop this persecution you have been heaping upon the 
 head of Mr. Milford, for he does not deserve it." He 
 looked slowly around over the crowd, his face lighting 
 up strangely, then he swept his hand swiftly over his 
 forehead and continued : *' My friends, you can not 
 afford to disgrace yourselves and this lovely little city 
 with my blood. I know that I can not escape. Per- 
 sonally I would rather be hanged than to be sent to 
 the penitentiary, but it is better for you that you abide 
 by the law and let me take the consequence of my mis- 
 fortune. I shudder, oh, I shudder at the thought, but 
 you must not become criminals yourselves in order to 
 cheat the state's prison of a victim. Go home now 
 
302 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 and leave me to my fate. I guess I'm able to meet it." 
 Nothing could exceed the solemn dignity with which 
 he uttered these closing sentences. His manner, as he 
 bowed and turned sadly and passed into the jail, 
 thrilled the now motionless audience with a strange, 
 deep pity. A sympathy such as is given to a worried 
 and wounded animal, took possession of hearts which, 
 a few moments before, had burned with desperate pas- 
 sion. Little danger of violence existed any longer; in 
 fact the police began at once to disperse the crowd and 
 to order the streets cleared. It was as if the show had 
 ended. Many men were sullen and felt discomfited, 
 some pretended to be wild with anger still, but the 
 larger number began to talk and laugh over what had 
 happened and to feel greatly relieved. 
 
 Lawson's harangue had no hearers more attentive 
 and steadfast or more deeply affected than Dr. Wilton, 
 Miss Crabb and Milford. For the time they actually 
 forgot poor Marian. 
 
 Miss Crabb whipped out a pencil and note-book, so 
 soon as Lawson had got fairly started, and fell to work 
 making a short-hand report for her paper. 
 
XXL 
 
 MARIAN suddenly found herself almost surrounded 
 by excited men, who, so far from doing her any 
 harm, appeared not to notice her. In her efforts to 
 get away from the crowd she became somewhat 
 bewildered and lost for the time all knowledge of 
 directions ; but, finding that no one paid any attention 
 to her, she kept quite calm and was able to take 
 excellent care of herself. 
 
 She saw Lawson and heard all that he said. It sur- 
 prised her not a little to note the effect of his address. 
 To her there was nothing eloquent or touching in the 
 man's words or manner. On the contrary, both struck 
 her as coarse and even soulless. No doubt her 
 woman's intuition or finer sense caught a meaning, 
 not observable by the heedless crowd, from certain 
 indicative gestures, facial movements and intonations ; 
 but the collapse of her heroic resolve when she saw 
 the mob, was of itself enough to take away all the 
 romance from the occasion and make her see nothing 
 but the most realistic outline of Lawson's predicament. 
 Indeed, his speech condemned him in her heart, not so 
 much by its crude vulgarity as by what seemed 
 scarcely kept back of it : a reserve of utter heartlessness, 
 
304 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 
 
 or inability to feel shame or remorse. A woman's 
 sympathy for a man is quite different in its nature 
 from that of a man for a man, under the same stress of 
 circumstances. A mob of women most probably would 
 have hanged Lawson all the more freely after hearing 
 his harangue. The refined feminine heart may be 
 touched by an exhibition of bravery, or moral pluck, 
 or even physical courage, but it recoils from the con- 
 templation of mere beast boldness and callousness to 
 the effects of danger. 
 
 Lawson had not shown that sort of courage which 
 Marian admired ; but he had touched a chord in the 
 hearts of the men who heard him and saw him, as 
 much by his stolid extreme of semi-humorous indiffer. 
 ence, as by the appeal to their sympathies through his 
 physical injuries and his air of "clear grit," as they 
 termed it. When a man has this " clear grit," or is 
 ** dead game to the bone," he is sure of that admiration 
 which is peculiarly masculine and which has its root in 
 love of combat. 
 
 Marian heard a great many exclamations and frag- 
 ments of conversation not especially suited to her ears, 
 as she struggled out of the now scattering, and for the 
 most part, good-natured multitude. She quickly got 
 the impression that every body, save her, was directly 
 or indirectly praising Lawson's daring tour de force. 
 Somehow, too, as the men surged past her in masses 
 or jostled her singly, she became impressed with the 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 305 
 
 importance of man's superior physical strength and 
 coarse, tough mental and moral fiber; she saw how 
 difficult it would be for finer and tenderer natures to 
 deal with the rougher aspects of public life. She felt 
 ashamed to think that she had dreamed for a moment 
 of attempting to do by the highest appeal to honor 
 what Lawson by the lowest appeal to mere animal 
 sympathy had so readily done. She knew that she 
 would have failed at best to elicit any thing better than 
 jeers from the crowd. These thoughts did not formu- 
 late themselves perfectly, perhaps, but fixed them- 
 selves as im.pressions able to come out more clearly 
 hereafter. 
 
 It was like seeing the sun after a long season of 
 dark weather when at length she caught sight of her 
 father's benevolent face and white beard through a 
 rift in the swarm of people. She hurried to him and 
 laid hold on his arm. 
 
 "Are you looking for me, father?" she demanded 
 in her sweetest tone. *' I rushed away so suddenly 
 that I suppose you thought very strange of it. Shall 
 we go home now ? " Before he could answer these 
 rapid questions, she lowered her voice to a murmur 
 and added : " Forgive me, papa, I did not think how 
 it would look." In spite of herself she was feeling as 
 if she had called great public attention to herself — as if 
 she had failed in some effort that had meant a great 
 deal to her. 
 
3o6 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 *' Oh, I knew you'd be all right," cried Miss Crabb, 
 putting away her note-book and pencil and rushing 
 upon Marian. "• I said so all the time, didn't I, Dr. 
 Wilton ? But go home now, dear," she went on, in a 
 half deprecating tone ; " you're not as accustomed to 
 the ways of these awful men as I am ; and you 
 oughtn't to be here. Take her right back home, Dr. 
 Wilton. I'd walk back with you, but I have to run to 
 the ofifice with my report. What a narrow escape it is 
 from something just awful ! " 
 
 She hastened away, elbowing along between the 
 men. 
 
 ** Yes, yes, we'll go, we'll go," said Dr. Wilton, much 
 confused. "This is a shocking thing, Marian, quite 
 shocking, indeed." He did not look at her after the 
 first glance, but hurried her along. 
 
 Milford wanted to speak to her, but there was no 
 opportunity. Her eyes met his momentarily, then a 
 stream of men intervened. 
 
 '' I glory in his everlastin' grit, don't care if he is a 
 rascal," Marian heard some one say. " Then, besides, 
 if every feller that plays sharp in business was hung, 
 we'd have a derned thinly-settled country, I tell 
 you." 
 
 " That's what's the matter," was the response, 
 *' Chester Lawson done a heap for Bankersville while 
 he had the money to do with. I b'lieve in givin' the 
 devil a fair shake." 
 
A BANKER OF BAXKERSVILLE. 30? 
 
 ''Oh, well, he'll go to the penitentiary, he adnaits 
 that himself, and that's bad enough. I'm just like 
 him, I'd rather be hung than go there. But I'll be 
 dern if I'd want to be lynched." 
 
 " No, it disgraces a feller to be strung up like a dog, 
 and him all crippled up like he is, too." 
 
 ''You bet." 
 
 Dr. Wilton hurried his daughter homeward as fast 
 as he could. He drew a long breath, when at last 
 they were away from the crowd and the murmur of 
 the confusion of voices had withdrawn from their ears, 
 and felt that relief which fresh air gives to one who 
 has been in a stifling and noisome place. 
 
 " Now, my daughter," he presently remarked, strok- 
 ing his long white beard, " I hope you are satisfied ; I 
 hope you see that the spheres of women and men 
 differ very widely." 
 
 But she had recovered her self-possession quite as 
 fully as he had resumed his authoritative attitude. 
 
 "That question does not arise now, father," she 
 said, meeting his look with a disarming smile. " We 
 are in no proper frame of mind for discussing our 
 favorite bone of contention. My first duty is to get 
 your forgiveness for the trouble my foolish act has 
 given you. I regret it — I am very sorry about it — I 
 am ashamed " 
 
 " I am glad you are," Dr. Wilton interrupted with 
 the nearest approach to gruffness she ever had noticed 
 
3o8 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 ill his voice and manner. *' I am sincerely glad you 
 are, and I shall not expect to have a thing of this sort 
 
 happen again soon. I " He hesitated a moment 
 
 and then proceeded : *' I know what you started out 
 to do — you were thinking of getting up before all 
 those wild, furious, cursing men and making a speech. 
 That was a grand idea, I must say ! " 
 
 This from her gentle and loving old father touched 
 her, cut her, as nothing else could have done. She 
 burst into tears that burned her cheeks. 
 
 They were at the gate now, and she ran into the 
 house and up to her room, without making repl)'. 
 Dr. Wilton sought the quiet of the library in which to 
 recover his lost temper. Never before had he given 
 way to anger with Marian. Her tears had fallen into 
 his heart. He sat down in his arm-chair and leaning 
 back closed his eyes, but he was not left alone long. 
 Marian came running down the stairs and into the 
 room. Her arms were around his neck and her 
 kisses fell fast on his forehead. She carried him 
 by storm before he could think of resistance ; there 
 was not much said between them, but they both 
 felt very happy presently. Indeed, Dr. Wilton was 
 so very happy that he did not notice the extreme 
 inconsequence of one remark half whispered by 
 Marian. 
 
 " It was honorable and just in him to relieve Mr. 
 Milford of all blame. You heard him say it, papa, 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, 309 
 
 didn't you?" she said, in the way of retrospect and 
 inquiry. " He did that much good by his talk, any 
 way." 
 
 Dr. Wilton made no answer and Marian appeared 
 not to expect any. She stroked his thin hair lovingly 
 and gazed with half dreaming eyes out through the win- 
 dow over the sheeny distant river and up the further 
 slope of the Wabash valley. She felt that, after all, 
 her foolish escapade had served a good turn, since it 
 had forced her father to hear Lawson's vindication of 
 Milford. 
 
 Dr. Wilton, on his part, took quiet delight in think- 
 ing that the morning's adventure had greatly modified 
 Marian's views regarding the highest sphere of useful- 
 ness for women. He would have suffered a great deal 
 more than this to be sure that she would throw aside 
 her purpose of becoming a lawyer and public speaker. 
 Surely what with Mrs. Goodword's rather repellent 
 performances and this adventure with the mob, she 
 had experienced enough to turn her back. He was not 
 inclined to be fanatical, or bitter, or ultra in his oppo- 
 sition to certain woman's rights theories, but he was 
 thoroughly conservative, all the same, and held tena- 
 ciously to his views. 
 
 When all is said, however, it is love at last that 
 limits woman's kingdom and sets the boundary to her 
 conquests, for she is not wholly a woman who can 
 refuse to lay all she has at the feet of the little blind 
 
3IO A BANKER OF BANKER SVILLE. 
 
 god, no matter to what height of worldly power she 
 may have attained. 
 
 Milford called that evening with a new trouble in 
 his mind. Lawson had written him a note from the 
 jail, soon after the crowd dispersed, asking him to 
 become his bondsman, that is to go upon his recog- 
 nizance, so that he might be at liberty until his trial at 
 court. This might appear very easy at first view, but 
 Milford saw that for him to aid Lawson in any way 
 would certainly confirm the public rumor that he was 
 a sharer in his partner's crimes. He discussed the 
 proposition with Marian, setting before her, in every 
 possible light, the obligations he was under to Lawson 
 and the consequences that might flow from any act of 
 friendship or assistance under the circumstances. 
 Marian was thus reminded of her own probable debt 
 to Lawson, such as it was. She frankly told Milford 
 the whole story of how Hempstead had been freed 
 from jail through Lawson's management, as she verily 
 believed. 
 
 " He is a bad man," she said, reflectively, '* but he 
 has, in a strange way, done a great deal for us. 
 
 *' One hates to acknowledge it," she went on, after 
 a thoughtful pause, " and it doesn't seem right for one 
 to have to, but we owe him a great deal, a very large 
 debt." 
 
 Milford sighed, pulling his mustache abstractedly. 
 
 *' I wish he would let himself out of jail as he let 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 3" 
 
 Hempstead out," he exclaimed, *' that would end the 
 whole distressing trouble." 
 
 ** Is it quite right to wish that?" Marian asked, 
 unwilling that Milford should appear to fall back one 
 inch from the advanced position he had hitherto occu- 
 pied. She may have feared that he was losing ground 
 with himself on account of his love for her. 
 
 " I hardly know what is right. I have lost my 
 standard," he said, trying to turn aside the force of 
 her question by a feint of levity. 
 
 " But you might help him in some way to get his 
 bail and yet not be known — " she began. 
 
 " Marian," he interrupted, ''you would not have me 
 shirk a responsibility ? " 
 
 "No," she rejoined, coloring a little, "you could 
 not do that ; but you can not abandon him altogether." 
 
 "No." 
 
 A silence fell between them, as if the subject had 
 been suddenly exhausted. 
 
 " I owe my start in business to him," Milford pres- 
 ently exclaimed with a certain strain of impatience in 
 his voice. " He saved me when I was at the point of 
 despair. I can not refuse to go his bail now." 
 
 " But it will subject you to most distressing sus- 
 picions and surmises." 
 
 " My conscience will be clear." 
 
 She rose and stood before him. 
 
 "Go, and do whatever is right and I, at least, will 
 
312 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 stand by you to the end," she said, with a little tremor 
 in her voice. 
 
 "And God will be with us both ! " he cried, springing 
 up and taking her in his arms. " How noble and dear 
 you are ! " 
 
 Dr. Wilton lifted aside a little portiere, and was 
 about to enter the room, but he vanished instantly and 
 noiselessly ; it was a scene for which he was not quite 
 ready, though he felt that he would have to submit to 
 what it prophesied. 
 
 Later on in the evening Milford told Marian that he 
 had written the publishers, and had agreed to spend 
 the winter in the South, making them a story of 
 southern life. 
 
 " I shall have to start at the end of six weeks," he 
 said, " and I want you to go with me ; so I hope you'll 
 arrange the preliminaries." 
 
 " I'm not in such a hurry," she lightly responded. 
 " I'll wait and see if you are going to continue suc- 
 cessful. Literature is a very unruly hobby, so Miss 
 Crabb says." 
 
 "But I shall fail if you are not with me," he 
 said, and with such earnestness that she became 
 serious. " Marian, I can not, I will not go without 
 you." 
 
 "Am I so precious as all that?" she murmured. 
 " Oh, if I thought it, my happiness would be too 
 great ! " 
 
A BANKER OF BA NKERSVILLE. 313 
 
 ** But you do know it," he whispered, ''and you are 
 just as happy as you can be, and so am I." 
 
 And then they forgot all the past, all the future, 
 wrapped in the mist of love. 
 
XXII. 
 
 THE detectives pocketed the various rewards offered 
 for the capture of Lawson and went their ways, 
 leaving Bankersville in a state of collapse after the 
 great excitement it had experienced. 
 
 Milford found the matter of arranging a bail-bond 
 for Lawson a very difficult one indeed on account of 
 the multitude of indictments and the heavy penal 
 sums required. There were delays and hindrances 
 almost innumerable. 
 
 Lawson did not wait very long, however, for one 
 fine morning it was announced that he had " vacated 
 his apartments in the jail and gone to parts unknown." 
 The reader, being fully advised of Lawson's power 
 over the jailer, can easily imagine how the escape was 
 accomplished. Of course, Bankersville flared up again, 
 and offered more rewards, but it was quickly found 
 out that the fugitive had got into Canada. 
 
 On the night of Lawson's escape the Scar editor 
 saw, lingering in the streets, the old man about whose 
 peculiar appearance and disappearance he had specu- 
 lated so vainly. This mysterious individual was more 
 respectably clad than formerly and bore himself better, 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE, S^S 
 
 but he was just as much as ever an enigma to the Scar 
 editor. What connection he may have had with Law- 
 son's escape could only be conjectured, but it was very 
 authoritatively settled that he accompanied him to 
 Canada, where the twain were often seen together 
 apparently enjoying themselves most liberally. 
 
 There can be no doubt that the people of Bankers- 
 ville felt a relief of no uncertain sort when at last, with 
 a long breath, as it were, they gave up all hope of ever 
 seeing punishment for any save petty crimes adminis- 
 tered by the courts. 
 
 " Oh, we worry these criminals a right smart, an' 
 yank 'em around an' skeer 'em a good deal, but it 
 'pears like 'at in the eend they all come clear," said 
 Downs, with a resignation in his voice that appeared 
 to affect Mrs. O'Slaughtery very deeply. " Now, 
 there's that Lawson jest a-fattenin' on my money up 
 there in Canada, an' the law can't tech 'im." 
 
 " Yis, the vagabond, an' us jest a-waitin' an* " 
 
 She caught herself with a little cough and a pretty 
 blush — *' awaiting for the law to do its work, an' it fails 
 every toime." 
 
 **Yes, precisely, an' only to think of the young 
 ladies, the nobby, high-toned girls of the place, a 
 carryin' flowers an' books to the dern whelp an' pettin' 
 'im like a baby there in the jail ! They'd better been 
 a-carryin' potatoes an' flour to the poor widders he 
 robbed." 
 
3i6 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 A great many people expressed themselves to about 
 the same effect in reviewing the status of Bankersville 
 affairs. But in the West there is no such thing as 
 despondency over ill-luck. Men pull themselves 
 together and begin afresh after each financial cataclysm, 
 with smiling faces and hopeful eyes, plucky to the 
 death. This elasticity of spirit has been attributed 
 philosophically to a great many agencies, prominent 
 among which is malaria. 
 
 " You keep a man's blood a-boilin' with an exhilar- 
 atin' poison, an' he'll everlastinly git up an' go," said a 
 Wabash doctor ; " an' malaria is absolutely intoxicatin' 
 if you don't git too much of it into you. Of course, 
 it's like any other intoxicant, if you git too much it 
 downs you an' rubs you out. Yes, sir, malaria is the 
 secret of Western restlessness and rush and enter- 
 prise. Whenever all this country gits ditched out dry 
 you'll see folks begin to git satisfied an' quiet an* all 
 this wild worry '11 be over. It's a fact, no doubt about 
 it. Why, sir, it's nothin' but malaria that's made 
 Chicago. You jest eliminate malaria from the atmos- 
 phere of Illinois and Indiana, an' that board of trade 
 up there in Chicago *11 bust insiJe of a week, 'cause a 
 man's mind's got to be poisoned before he'll have the 
 nerve to buck against that big a tiger. Notice it when 
 you will, an' you'll see that a season of big speculation 
 in Chicago is a season of epidemic malarial diseases." 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery was a woman who calculated 
 
A B A NICER OF BANKERSVILLE. 317 
 
 financial probabilities and possibilities very closely and 
 cleverly for one of her limited opportunities, but she 
 often found it helpful to call upon Milford for counsel. 
 At such times she always invited him into her parlor 
 and came to the question without delay or circum- 
 locution. What proved to be the last interview of 
 this kind took place a week or two after Lawson's 
 escape from jail. 
 
 Mrs. O'Slaughtery appeared to be considerably 
 excited, and it troubled her no little to get to the point 
 of her thoughts. She tried to be very grave and dig- 
 nified and was thoroughly on guard against the Irish 
 brogue. 
 
 " It's not that I care for the money, you know," she 
 began, '' but thin you know I can't charge him any 
 board while we're ingaged, and so it's all a-comin' off 
 me all the toime, don't ye see. To be sure it's all in 
 the family loike, as you moight say," she paused and 
 rolled her handkerchief into a ball in her lap, "but 
 oi've faygured on it an* it seems bad economy to my 
 moind. What do you say, Misther Milford ? " 
 
 "It is very plain," said Milford, "that you ought to 
 marry at the earliest day practicable." 
 
 " That's me moind, that's me moind," she exclaimed, 
 vigorously rolling the ball. " Not that I care how 
 long I wait, at all, but thin ayconomy, Misther Mil- 
 ford, ayconomy demands a change in affairs altogither, 
 for I can't afford the ixpinsive luxury of kaypin' 'im 
 
3l8 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 a-boardin* on me an' git no — that is not have — I should 
 say — " she got hopelessly entangled and at the same 
 time blushed scarlet. 
 
 "Oh, you're quite right, Mrs. O'Slaughtery," Mil- 
 ford kindly interposed. " You can't afford so barren 
 an investment as that, and you must tell him so." 
 
 " Dear me ! I can't think of it at all ! The idea is 
 revoltin' to my womanhood altogither," she cried. 
 
 "Well, I'll tell him," said Milford promptly; " you 
 leave him to me, will you ? " 
 
 *' I always have trusted you, Misther Milford, and 
 you've always been so koind," she sighed. " But it 
 doesn't look jist roight for me to be all the toime 
 a-worryin' you about me own affairs intoirely." 
 
 " That's all right," said Milford cordially, as he rose 
 to go. " Downs will not be refractory ; he'll thank me 
 for the suggestion. You may as well get ready for the 
 happy event." 
 
 She gave her pretty head a saucy toss, but made no 
 reply, save by darting a bright smile at Milford as he 
 went out. 
 
 It was near this time that the editor of the Scar 
 found what he called a " lead " in connection with Law- 
 son's past life. A series of very sensational editorials 
 followed, giving what purported to be a history of the 
 " cheekiest fraud of the age," a history quite authentic, 
 no doubt, in all its main features. Lawson's true 
 name turned out to be McGlaughson, and his former 
 
A BANKER OF BAXKERSVILLE. 3^9 
 
 home Kansas, where his father had served a long term 
 in the state's prison for fraudulent land transactions 
 and forgery. 
 
 ** The whole family seems to have been tricky, to 
 say the least," ran a Scar paragraph ; " for two of the 
 brothers of our hero were hanged in Texas and Indian 
 Territory for appropriating personal property, and the 
 mother of the family was suspected of secreting stolen 
 goods. Our man was the best of the lot, in many 
 respects. He was educated by an uncle of his mother, 
 a rich California man, who sent him to Europe to get 
 culture ; but this benefactor died suddenly, without a 
 will, leaving the young adventurer high and dry. 
 Then he came to Bankersville, under the name of Law- 
 son, and began his streak of luck." 
 
 Every body could see, now that the line of vision 
 was turned backward, how Lawson's short, disastrous 
 career had been almost wholly controlled by mere 
 luck. He had possessed a certain sort of pluck and 
 nerve and, no doubt, he had not that dread of failure 
 which haunts minds of a higher and purer order. Con- 
 science with him was a mere whim, absent or present 
 according to circumstances ; moreover, his selfishness 
 overshadowed every other element of his character. 
 He was a bird of prey, always hungry, always watching, 
 always pouncing, attempting to devour whatever came 
 in his way, utterly regardless of the consequences. 
 He told the truth when he said that not a drop of 
 
3 2 o A BA NKER OF BA NKERS VILLE. 
 
 honest blood ran in his veins. He had come of a 
 long line of men who had lived by their wits, lived 
 by the chances of the times, who had preyed upon 
 mankind in seasons of need and misfortune. With 
 him to trust to luck was hereditary, and to ex- 
 pect fortune to favor him was a traditional trait. 
 He was, in some degree, a type, peculiarly Ameri- 
 can, of the character which has given to the West 
 much of its spasmodic progress as well as most of its 
 picturesque villainy, and his career may be found 
 recorded in almost exact duplicate, so far as essen- 
 tials go, in a large number of Western towns, the 
 career of a financial adventurer known as the child of 
 luck. It has never been known whether he had for- 
 warded to Canada a sum of money before his collapse 
 came, but people generally believed that he had. At 
 all events, he is reported to be living with his father in 
 a comfortable way, and to be growing fat and lazy 
 doing nothing. No effort has ever been made to 
 fetch him back to Bankersville for trial, and he prob- 
 ably will pass the rest of his life unmolested in the 
 midst of a small colony of men of his ilk who have 
 fled from angry creditors and crazed partners to a safe 
 retreat, where they can enjoy their ill-gotten fortunes 
 under the kind shadow of a very accommodating 
 phase of the extradition laws. 
 
 Bankersville has almost forgotten Lawson and his 
 luck. It is a thriving city, full as ever of banks and 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 321 
 
 speculators, and it has two bucket-shops instead of 
 one, to say nothing of its faro "dealers," its ''bunko 
 steerers," and its " poker cappers," all doing a fair 
 share of business. The college is still open to young 
 gentleman only, and Dr. Wilton has been dubbed 
 Caesar by the seniors for the reason (as they say) that 
 he has conquered " immense Gaul (gall) " in finally 
 putting down the advocates of co-education. 
 
 If you should ever go to Bankersville it would 
 delight you to stop at the Downs' House, on the 
 corner near the post-office. The place has a faint 
 Irish flavor, so to say, but the fare is good and the 
 charges are moderate. The proprietor is a broad- 
 faced, sanguine, genial soul, who is over-fond of telling 
 stones of when he was " nothing but a chunk of an 
 auctioneer." 
 
 Milford has become a confirmed professional littera- 
 teur^ and Marian helps him in his work a great deal, 
 notwithstanding that she often declares that all liter- 
 ary men, with the occasional exception which proves 
 the rule, are weak little fellows personally, and exert 
 an influence essentially inferior to that of the orators. 
 They have been spending their winters in St. Augus- 
 tine, Florida, and their summers in Bankersville, living 
 a very quiet, happy life, troubled very little with the 
 complications of contemporary social and political 
 struggles, and slowly forgetting that they were ever a 
 part of that restless young America whose spirit is 
 
322 A BANKER OF BANKERSVILLE. 
 
 conquest, progress, acquisition, at all hazards and by 
 any means. They have made it a pleasure to assist 
 Miss Crabb over the rough places of the fascinating 
 road which, with constant hope, the literary hack is 
 doomed to travel, without ever getting more than a 
 tantalizing waft from the Eden of success. 
 
 They have once or twice planned to spend a sum- 
 mer in Canada, but as often have abandoned the 
 thought Avhen it occurred to them that they possibly 
 might chance to meet Lawson. They do not mention 
 his name when it can be avoided, for they have never 
 got rid of a strange feeling of doubt and gloom in 
 connection with his memory, and it is the only skele- 
 ton in their closet : this knowledge that they owe him 
 a debt they never can pay. 
 
 Milford's "record" does not trouble him much now. 
 Once in a while, when news items are scarce and the 
 Scar editor is suffering from an unusually stubborn 
 attack of malaria, there appears in his journal a grave 
 warning to the people against harboring ex-rebels and 
 tolerating certain young men who *' appear to be try- 
 ing to lower Chester Lawson's record." 
 
 Not long ago, two rather well-dressed but disreputa- 
 ble looking persons, an old, wrinkled m.an and a cor- 
 pulent, middle-aged fellow, sat at a table in a low beer- 
 room in Toronto. 
 
 " Well, suppose Congress do ratify the proposed 
 treaty, the result can not affect us — a treaty can't be 
 
A BANKER OF BANKERSVJLLE. 323 
 
 retroactive," said the younger, as he slowly glanced 
 over the columns of a morning paper. " What do we 
 care how soon they ratify it?" 
 
 The old man looked wistfully into the bloated face 
 of his companion, but made no answer. Presently the 
 stolid eyes of the latter fixed themselves on a para- 
 graph — a mere trivial " literary note," and a grayish 
 light ran over his cheeks as he read : 
 
 " It is said that the beautiful wife of Louis Milford assists him in 
 writing his novels." 
 
 Slowly Chester Lawson's head sank upon the table, 
 and for a long while he mused in silence. 
 
 What were his thoughts? Was he realizing that ill- 
 gotten wealth is the greatest menace a free govern- 
 ment has to confront ? Was he pondering over the 
 mistakes of his past life ? Or was he dreaming the 
 old, old dream ? 
 
 THE END. 
 
M558957 
 
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